


Courage of the Lost Ones

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternative Plotlines, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 55,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Durin's blood takes care of their own. </p><p>When Thorin finally collapses from his wounds, it's up to the brothers to catch him. Before he knows it, he's been caught in more ways than one. And so things shift, until each of them - a story in its own right - is braided together into a different tale altogether. A tale of dwarves and passions, not of gold and dragons.</p><p>Set at the very end of 'Unexpected Journey' and continues with alternative plotlines through 'Desolation of Smaug' loosely following canon. Focus on personalities, character development and realistic portrayal of the toll the quest takes on its participants. With a dash of smut!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They know something is horribly wrong the moment Thorin collapses in Bilbo’s arms. He doesn’t make a sound, just sags against the Halfling until he topples over under his weight.

They don’t get to treat him until they are safely accommodated for the night. In those rare moments when he comes round Thorin insists that they get off the peak and keep on moving, their position too exposed, too difficult to defend, visible from miles away. Thorin is stubborn as a mule about this but it isn’t until past midnight that they find a suitable place for the night camp. 

A little town nestling in the foothills of the mountain slopes. It really isn’t much – thatched roofs, orchards, fields, smoke lazily curling up the night sky. And although they’ve been trying to avoid people throughout their journey, they desperately need the few comforts of civilisation right now.

By the time they find an inn Dwalin is basically carrying their leader draped over his shoulder. The woman behind the counter startles at first, the few late guests peering at them distrustfully. It’s a small town and that many dwarves together are a sight unseen for a generation. While the guests clear off hurriedly, Gandalf makes his way to the counter to exchange a few words with the landlady, purposeful and reassuring all at once. Eventually she nods tightly and comes closer to assess the dirty and bone-wary company. Frowning, she reaches to touch Thorin’s face where the bruises are already blooming.

He opens his eyes and _looks_ at her for a long moment, like he’s trying to learn all there is to know about her, the expression on his face saying that he won’t beg and he won’t thank her for her pity. In truth, Fili thinks, the inn is heaven-sent and they will be in quite a lot of trouble if they’re kicked out. They need water, to replenish supplies, dress their wounds and rest. None of which is easily achieved on the windswept, rocky mountain slopes.

“We don’t mean any trouble.” Thorin rasps out finally. “And we will pay what is due.” He adds firmly.

“Who did this to you?” She asks instead, as if she didn’t hear him.

“That is none of your concern, lass.” Dwalin answers carefully. 

“- But you need not worry.” Gandalf interjects with a smile. “They won’t be coming after us. Not unless they grow wings.” 

At that she seems to make up her mind. “How many of you are there?” She asks, going back behind the counter to retrieve the keys. “We have no rooms furnished for the little folk, I’m sorry, but we can certainly get you spare blankets and pillows so everybody is comfortable …”

“That will do splendidly, young lady.” Balin naturally takes over the business side of things, the flattery rolling off his tongue easily. “There’s fifteen of us altogether and I think three, perhaps four rooms should suffice.”

She pauses with a bunch of keys in her hands and reaches for another, solitary key as well, looking back at Thorin, who seems to be holding himself upright through the sheer willpower alone.

“Your friend over there is quite badly hurt.” She looks to Balin who is putting down coin for the deposit. “I will give you my best room. It’s not like I’m likely to have any lords or kings on my doorstep tonight. Or ever.” She chuckles. “It’s not very big, but it does have a tin bath in it. He will be more comfortable there.”

Balin nods his thanks and reaches to fish out extra coin but the girl stops him. “There is no need. I won’t charge you more than the standard. To be fair, it’s the best use that room had in months.”


	2. Chapter 2

Fili and Kili take over supporting their uncle at the top of the stairs. There’s an unspoken agreement in this matter that none of the dwarves dares question. Naturally, it’s Bilbo who eventually does, and it’s Bofur who explains in hushed tones. “Durin’s blood. They always look after their own. It just wouldn’t be right for the other folk to see the weakness of the royal bloodline.”

As Oin hands over some of what little medical supplies they have, the landlady brings some clean bandages. Under these circumstances they are invaluable, Fili thinks, smiling his thanks.

The room is indeed on the small side, with only two beds, a table and two chairs, but it’s clean and there’s a nice big fireplace in the corner. Directly in front of it is a tin bath which looks a bit small for the big folk but perfect size for a dwarf. The brothers exchange a satisfied smile – a bath is a luxury they haven’t experienced in a long while.

Fili helps his uncle sit on the bed and deposits their bags. He moves to start a fire, while Kili disappears to bring the water from the well. Thorin doesn’t make a sound while they bustle around, laying out the supplies, draping a spare sheet along the inside of the bath, filling it with a bucketful after bucketful of steaming water.

It takes a while to get Thorin out of his mail and coat, the older dwarf insisting that he can manage himself despite the flickers of pain on his face. “I don’t need your –“

“Please.” Kili interrupts, meeting his brother’s eyes over Thorin’s shoulder. “Let us.” He says simply, but there’s something _needy_ in Kili’s eyes that makes Fili shiver. 

As he reaches to unlace his uncle’s simple linen shirt Fili thinks he can see Thorin sway a little, but the dwarf leans heavily against the mantelpiece and regains his balance. When he looks up again his eyes are glossy with fever and there are no more protests. 

“Blood of my blood.” Fili whispers mesmerised, staring at the vivid red patches staining the linen before they pull the shirt up and strip it off completely. 

Thorin eventually gives a barely perceptible nod and this is what gives Fili the guts to reach for the lacing of his breaches. Behind them Kili gives a startled gasp and Thorin closes his eyes, leaning minutely into the fingers tracing his skin and letting the younger brother examine his back.

Kili is staring, and quite frankly so is Fili. Their uncle’s body tells a story of abuse – written in blood, bruises and scars, both those recent ones and from the days long gone, is a tale of the proud Durin’s heir who was allowed to taste the splendour of kings, but was brought as low as only the world’s contempt can. 

There are straight scars criss-crossing Thorin’s back, covered with fresh, swollen bruises, where one of the goblins whipped him. They would be much worse, Fili realises, if not for Thorin’s mail. An evidence of this adorns his neck, where the end of the vile weapon caught him on the bare skin, drawing a thick, bleeding welt.

But it’s Thorin’s front that really worries the brothers. There are definitely broken ribs. At least three – two on one side, one on the other, marked by the enormous purple bruises spilling just under the skin. Fili would recognise those anywhere, a memory of those cruel markings etched deep into his mind. 

When he and Kili had been but little dwarflings, Kili was once accused of stealing some apples. It didn’t matter that he was innocent, or that having been robbed of their homeland, to him a theft was the worst crime imaginable – the boy had been lynched by the angry mob, who didn’t spare him fist, boot or a wooden club to teach him justice. By the time Fili had found his brother - unconscious, beaten into the mud, bloodied and curled up into a ball, the damage had been done. It took ages to heal and Fili rarely left his brother’s side ever since. 

Running a mental record of what was happening to his uncle Fili arrives at the conclusion that the solitary broken rib on the left must be from the impact when they first landed in the goblin cave. But that would mean that Thorin was being pushed around, was moving, fighting, pirouetting and climbed a tree despite his injury. Fili would be impressed if he wasn’t so aghast.

The other two, Fili concludes, must have been shattered in the massive jaws of the warg. There’s also a deep gash in his uncle’s side right next to the broken ribs, which worries him more than any other injury. The blood has mostly dried off by now but the fabric of his breaches is stained with thick rivulets running all the way to the bottom of the leg. Klli follows his eyes and gasps at the macabre sight, while Filli’s mind is running on repeat: _‘He’s lost so much blood! There’s so much blood! I need to stop it! Durin’s line blood, so precious, yet so easily spilled.’_

And then there’s Thorin’s arm. Hanging limply by his side, already considerably swollen and purple with bruising. The broken bone isn’t obvious at first glance because the angle seems right. It’s Kili who first notices with his trained eyes, touching it gingerly and causing Thorin to hiss in pain. _‘He must have automatically tried to shield his injured side when the beast caught him in its jaws. The arm took the blow and the bone snapped like a dry twig’_ Fili thinks, a sudden understanding dawning on him as his mind replays their uncle on his back, meekly trying to reach for his sword.

“Durin’s beard, will you just get on with it?” They’re both pulled out of their trance by Thorin’s gruff voice.

“S-Sorry.” Fili stammers, remembering the steaming water. 

His brother though dwells. “Those scars – Uncle… How did you come by those?”

Fili knows exactly the scars Kili means. It’s so like Kili that the only injuries he can’t get over, can’t forgive are the ones that could have only been left by a whip. Fili has seen them a couple of times before but he never dared to ask about them and he’s never had the chance to look at them up-close, like Kili has right now.

“It was a long time ago, lad. It matters not.” Thorin sways on his feet visibly now and two sets of hands reach out to steady him.

“Breaches, brother.” Fili directs urgently, while he helps support their uncle.

Kili makes a quick job of removing Thorin’s pants and undergarments, the blood-soaked fabric peeling sickeningly away from the flesh of his hip and causing the wound to reopen.

The older dwarf gives a strangled hiss as they help lower him into the hot water but carefully leans back after a moment. 

Fili is quick but thorough helping his uncle wash. He knows he needs those wounds clean before they are dressed properly, but at the same time is conscious that with every second his king loses more blood, especially now that the thick scabs have been washed away. There is no place for awkwardness or shame here. This is a dwarf who will need every ounce of their help if he is to survive the night and Fili is painfully aware of this.

In an unspoken agreement between the brothers Kili takes over washing Thorin’s hair. He carefully runs his fingers through the thick mane only to discover it in total disarray. He tugs at one of Thorin’s braids questioningly and at his minute nod proceeds to reverently unbraid them. It takes a while to comb through the worst of the tangles, but when he’s finally satisfied Kili reaches for a bucket of hot water he’s kept to one side.

Fili can’t help a wave of jealously rising in him when a quiet moan slips past Thorin’s lips as Kili soaks his hair. Fili meets his brother’s hungry gaze over the wet strands and uses a wet flannel to wash the grime off Thorin’s neck, forcing him to tilt his head back and expose the column of his throat. This expression of thrust from a dwarf he’s learned to admire and follow blindly all his life stirs something deep within his belly and for a brief moment this is no longer about helping a gravely injured kin. Between him and Kili this is about having control over the naked and pliant body, a carnal need to push at the boundaries they’ve always known.

The spell is broken within seconds when Fili’s flannel comes away stained with blood, but the thought has now been implanted in their minds and Fili knows it will haunt both of them for the years to come.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s the early morning hours before they get Thorin to sit on a low stool by the fire and start dressing his wounds. They work in a quiet unison, like they always do, understanding one another without a word. One pair of hands passes the rolled up bandage to the other, picking it up on the other side as they dress his mid-section. Kili holds Thorin’s hair out of the way, while Fili applies the ointment to the welt on his neck. A tub of ground herbs is shared between them as they add it to the grease and carefully rub into the skin over the broken ribs.

They pause when they get to his arm. Fili looks up to his brother and uncle as if waiting for a sign, a frown forming between his brow.

“Come on, lad. It has to be done.” Thorin presents his swollen limb. “Kili, you’ll have to hold me down.”

Kili looks as uneasy as his brother, but braces himself behind his uncle and wraps his arm around Thorin’s chest and shoulders. The older dwarf doubts the two of them combined would be enough to pin him down if he chose to resist, but in this case he will try his best to co-operate rather than hinder. He doesn’t envy Fili – the lad had been trained by Oin, but the truth is that he’s not by any means a healer. And every mistake on his part will cost Thorin dearly. 

_Blood of my blood_ , runs through his mind and there’s a fleeting memory of Frerin’s cry when Thorin was forced to perform the same operation on him, a lifetime ago. He closes his eyes as Fili gingerly takes hold of his hand and tries to feel the broken bone with his fingers. He remembers the guilt mounting in his chest as Frerin bit through his lip in an attempt to keep quiet as Thorin bandaged the injury for him. He remembers how desperate he was to soothe his brother with words and gentle kisses…

And then there’s blinding pain and he’s vaguely aware that he does cry out and again when Fili gets it wrong on the first attempt and bones grind together. He struggles against Kili’s grip, fighting against his own instinct that tells him to pull the injured arm away and protect it. 

“I’m sorry, uncle! I’m so sorry!” Fili repeats constantly, his face a mask of distress and concentration.

Thorin swears, particularly un-kingly like, when Fili tries again, but this time gets it right, and the parts of his bone meet again. “Secure it. It is in place.” He pants out, wondering if the rest of the company have heard him and cursing his own weakness. 

Fili looks a bit shell-shocked and doesn’t move in the first instance, staring at his hands instead.

“For the love of Aule Fili, get a grip!” Thorin hisses out, reaching for a wooden dagger sheath among his things. “You did well. Now wrap this up and let’s be done with it.” He adds more softly, using his good hand to rest on Fili’s head for a brief moment.

Thorin watches them as his nephew adds his and Kili’s dagger sheaths to create a makeshift cast and bandage it securely in place. There’s something about the lads that tells him that now more than ever they’re no longer just rash dwarflings, eager for an adventure. The way they communicate without words, take on responsibility, the way they look at him… He suddenly feels that if he’d let them, they could easily be his equals. 

As Kili’s fingers tilt his head back and hold it in place while Fili applies a sharply smelling ointment to the claw marks on his cheekbone Thorin finds himself wondering which of them controls the other. 

_Blood of my blood_ , echoes in his mind again and he thinks of Frerin laughing, breathing hard, warm and smelling of sun-warmed rocks. He’d die for his nephews. Because he couldn’t die for Frerin. He can feel the darkness, the bitterness rise in him and he kills the thought ruthlessly, instead taking the cup which Kili is passing him.

“What’s this?”

“For the pain. And to help you sleep. You will slow us down, unless you heal quickly.” Kili says matter of factly, his voice commanding towards Thorin perhaps for the first time ever.

“We’re leaving at first light.” He repeats stubbornly although his hopes aren’t high in that regard. They’ve got maybe an hour of darkness left.

Fili’s lips curl up in a familiar smile. “We’ll be ready for the road as soon as you are, uncle.” He says diplomatically.

Thorin drinks the bitter tasting potion and doesn’t protest as two pairs of arms help him up and to the bed. He’s acutely aware that he’s not able to travel in his current state. If it was any other member of the company he’d leave them behind to give them the chance to heal. So the sooner he’s mended the better.


	4. Chapter 4

They are too tired to refill the bath. But they do wash as best as they can, using the two buckets of hated water. There are only two beds in the room and one of them is occupied by Thorin, so they end up sharing. This is nothing new for the brothers and sleeping across the bed gives them heaps of space.

For a time the only sounds in the room are cracking of the logs in the fireplace and Thorin’s soft snores. Until a voice breaks the silence. 

“Are you asleep, brother?”

“I was, until you spoke. Sleep, Kili. I can’t remember the last time we were given the chance to rest on something this soft.”

When only silence answers him Fili stirs and reluctantly opens his eyes to look at his younger brother. 

“What is it? Tell me.” He says simply. He’s dead tired, but in truth the adrenaline of the day is still coursing through his veins, keeping the sleep well at bay.

Kili huffs petulantly but doesn’t protest when Fili wraps an arm around his shoulder. “It’s just – Twice today they had a knife at his throat. They were going to cut off his head, Fili. And he was helpless to stop them. And so were we.”

Fili looks at his sibling, trying to read emotions in his eyes in the dim light of the embers dying in the fireplace. He sees worry, doubt, anger and determination. Thorin has always been a father figure for both of them and neither is sure what they’d do without him. They’ve always known their uncle as the strongest, most dignified, biggest giant of a dwarf. Wise, strict and undefeated. Today they’ve seen him captured, whipped, bleeding and driven by rash emotions. Barely yesterday they very nearly lost each other during the thunder battle.

There’s such hunger in them for things to go back to how they were. For Ered Luin, for the harsh but simple life of hunting, helping at the smithy and training. They don’t shy away from the responsibility, but to them life in exile is what’s normal. They don’t remember Erebor and all its glory, so it would be a hollow victory if they reclaimed it and Thorin wasn’t there to witness it.

“You can’t control the world. Only how you face it.” He finally says calmly, stroking his thumb over his brother’s arm. He doesn’t understand where that calm is coming from but it has been at his very core ever since he can remember. “If he died – If I died and all our hopes came to naught, this is the one thing you must remember, brother.”

“And you are satisfied with this.” It’s more a statement than a question. Kili is never satisfied. He always reaches for the things he can’t have. 

Like he reached for Fili. 

Like he is now reaching for Thorin. 

“You want him.” Fili finally whispers, changing the subject, but eager to know. “I saw how you look at him.”

“As do you. Fili, this doesn’t mean that –“

“I know.” He snorts. “You can never leave well enough alone.”

He knows the dirty smile forming on his brother’s lips without looking, just by the movement of the corner of his lips.

“Fili…?”

“Mmmm?”

“Fuck me.”

Fili feels his cock stir at the simple demand. He opens his eyes and is met by the intense brown gaze. “Now is not the time, brother. Thorin sleeps barely a few feet away, he could wake…”

“We could die tomorrow. What if this is the last time we can –“

“Shhhh… You will not die tomorrow, I promise you this. You will die of old age, in a warm bed in Erebor. My bed, if I can help it.”

“You said I can only choose how I face the world. This is how I want to face it: breaking the rules, fighting, making my own way. Burning on the inside from where you have claimed me. Alive in the knowledge that you are mine. Him too, if I can have him.”

“Quiet, you fool! You must stay quiet no matter what now.”

“Wha –“

It’s such an easy temptation, Fili thinks claiming Kili’s mouth. In everything else he always strives to do the right thing, to be the dwarf everybody expects him to be. But this – when it comes to Kili there _is_ no obligation, and it _does_ feel right and every single time it just feels – feels like coming back home.


	5. Chapter 5

Fili kisses the same way he fights, Kili thinks. Expertly, really well, every move trained to perfection. Their mouths fit together like two shells of a clam, their tongues dancing inside like a single living creature. Kili enjoys those kisses, but prefers the ones he has to drag out of Fili, the ones he can’t stop or control.

He has never known his brother to be selfish, unrestrained or driven by impulse. Free. He has never seen Fili truly free. 

Even this – they fuck because Kili wanted his brother and there is no part of himself that Fili would deny him. Fili of course wanted him too – that much was evident even that first time when his brother almost choked with relief as he came. But he would have never asked. 

Sometimes Kili thinks it’s his sole aim in life to be free for both of them.

He reaches for his brother’s familiar girth and shamelessly opens his legs, letting the two members rub against one another.

“Slut.” Fili whispers right in his ear, before tugging at the edge of the lobe. 

The insult is only in part responsible for an eager twitch of Kili’s cock. It’s hearing his perfect big brother embrace the depravity and use such a foul language that really makes his breathing speed up. Kili likes to think that he’s the only one who notices the dirty side to the ever present, easy curl of Fili’s lips.

“If only Thorin knew how much you enjoy sinking into that slut, how hard you get when I bend over…” He returns in kind only to have his mouth filled with two thick digits.

“Quiet, I said. He only needs to hear you.” Ah, his ever commanding brother. A perfect material for a King. He rolls his eyes. “Or would you rather I left you to ride your own fingers just so you can finish?” 

“Depends.” He whispers back, when the fingers are finally removed and repositioned at his entrance. “Would you like to watch me?”

It’s Fili who groans quietly as a single digit sinks into Kili all the way to the knuckle. Kili bites his lip instead.

“I would have you take my cock, feel me stretch you and spill in you and ruin you. Because this what you want, isn’t it, brother?”

Kili clenches automatically, pupils blown wide, and is immediately opened anew as a second digit slips in alongside the first one. It burns with only the most basic of lubrication. But Fili’s mouth is on his neck, kissing and nipping, teeth dangerously close to his pulse point and he suddenly remembers Thorin’s throat exposed to Fili’s fingers. Mind conjures dangerous images of his brother commanding their uncle to fuck Kili, Thorin obeying like they never saw him obey. Or another, of Thorin letting them touch him without any reservations, anywhere, until he comes with a hoarse groan.

“You will need – this.” Kili manages, offering a little jar of oil he’s pilfered from their medical supplies earlier.

“You have planned this.” Fili chuckles, removing his fingers and rearranging Kili’s legs so they’re resting in the crooks of his arms.

“Many days ago.” Kili confesses, grinning unrepentantly and making himself comfortable. 

There is no shame between them, no hesitation. There is literally nothing Kili wouldn’t let Fili do to him and he knows he’s allowed the same liberty. They’ve tested it enough times. 

“And for this you will suffer for many days to come” Fili catches his eyes, a corresponding wicked smile visible below his braided moustache, as he slicks up the thick length between them. 

Kili knows that they won’t last long. Knows by heart all the signs that tell him his brother had been gagging for this just as much as he has. Some days he likes to drag this delicious push me – pull me game until Fili loses it, shoves him against the nearest tree and just mounts him, like a wild animal that he is. Kili loves watching the shame, the realisation, the quiet defiance as they come down from the high.

But right now Fili is the opposite – the raging storm, the force of nature, the need brimming in his eyes as he pushes in, slowly at first, then faster and more urgently, while Kili claws at the sheets against the pain.

Right now Fili is his. His stoic persona, easy smiles, tact and obedience, the responsible upbringing all discarded for the filthy pleasure of a tight, wet hole. 

Kili squirms, grunting and reaching for his own cock, but is instantly pinned to the bed by a large hand on his chest. Fili starts moving in a slow rhythm on his own terms, adjusting the angle until he hits that tiny bundle of nerves inside Kili, which turns the fires of pain into smouldering embers of pleasure spreading through him, choking him, until he feels like he needs to fight for every breath.

“That’s it. Open wide for me, brother.” Fili can be about as filthy as Kili can be stubborn.

Kili tries to set his own counter-rhythm in response, moaning breathlessly and staring at the other dwarf defiantly, too alight with need to trust his own words.

They battle for control for a moment, their thrusts turning faster and ever more vicious, hands pinned together on the sheets, as they use one another, take and give, and ride out the waves of the burning hot instinct. Like two metals melting, swirling and bonding in a burning cauldron.

Kili doesn’t think much of it when Fili first misses the beat, and then again, slowing down. He’s distracted when he notices that his brother isn’t looking at him, follows his line of sight and discovers that Fili’s bright blue eyes are locked with Thorin’s impossibly dark ones.


	6. Chapter 6

“How long?” Thorin asks calmly, stepping closer to their bed.

Fili feels like he’s burning, like he’ll die in a minute, like the first words of disapproval and rebuke that are sure to come will just slash through his very soul and he will never be able to look himself in a mirror. “Since –“

“Since I asked him to show me.” Fili startles at the firm response from his brother. Kili is looking at their uncle with a fire in his eyes, which Fili realises matches the one he’s seen so many times in Thorin’s eyes. _Durins blood_. The look their uncle gets when he goes to war to get back what belongs to his people. The same look Kili gets now, ready to protect and stand up for what he considers his, regardless of what anyone else thinks. He will go against Thorin if he has to. To protect _Fili_.

“What does it feel like?” 

Fili gasps, can’t quite believe it. He’s still balls deep inside his brother, and there’s a calloused hand running along his spine, and Thorin’s looking at them like he’s – But it can’t be. And suddenly Fili instinctively knows that the question is not intended to shame them further. It implies a need to know, as if Thorin –

“Join us? Find out?” Kili doesn’t let his eyes move from their uncle’s face as he extends his hand.

For a brief moment nothing happens. “Fili?” Thorin asks eventually, eyes guarded, looking just about as afraid of rejection as Fili was a few minutes earlier.

Fili nods, feeling like he’s in a trance. He’s imagined what it would feel like before, of course he did. But that was just a fantasy and this here is real.

Thorin’s hand now finds its way into his hair, toying with the golden strands for a moment, before he is gently pulled in for a kiss. It’s awkward and far too planned, like most first kisses are, but Fili is still dizzy with the awareness of exactly what he’s doing. 

“Do you truly want this? Words Fili, I need to hear this from you.” Thorin is looking him in the eye and there is so much longing in there, like he had never seen before.

“I just – I don’t want to find out that this is some elaborate plan to humiliate us. If you are going to say something –“ He looks at Kili, his hair splayed on the pillow, looking from one to the other hopefully. He couldn’t bear it to see his little brother’s confidence shattered.

“You think me cruel.” Thorin murmurs somewhere close. “Perhaps you should.”

“You’re not –“ Kili tries to interject.

“I will not judge you any more than you will judge me. I’d be a fool to try and deny you what you have considered yours for a long time and a hypocrite to lecture you about it. Yes, you two play a dangerous game and perhaps a time will come when you will have to pay a price for it. But until then there is only the two of you, me and the choices we make.”

Kili makes a high pitched whine and Fili can feel his brother’s body react to the words. He watches mesmerised as he tugs on Thorin’s braid and pulls him down for a heated kiss of his own. Their mouths clash so much easier, without any hesitation, and it seems only natural that Kili’s hand reaches to trace Thorin’s naked chest.

Fili feels his own need flaring in response and remembers that his cock hasn’t moved from where it came to rest buried deep inside his brother’s welcoming heat.

There’s a hiss as Thorin comes up for air, his broken arm supported carefully by the other and Fili feels a surge of protectiveness as well as desire, finds himself wanting to show him, to take Thorin apart with pleasure until he can’t resist or remember about his injuries, the quest and the whole damn world. 

“What will you let me do?” 

This time it sounds like a challenge and Fili has never once backed out of those. His smile turns wicked as he starts moving again, slowly now. He knows that without the throbbing pulse of pleasure, this will make Kili feel self-conscious and uncomfortable, and yet it excites him to be so intimate with his brother even when the movement is so raw.

“What can you do?” He throws back, watching his uncle watch Kili’s face as he takes his cock. “I don’t want to have to re-dress those wounds again in the morning. I thought we told you to rest?”

Before he knows what’s happening, Thorin has moved so he’s sat almost directly behind him and the covers are being pulled away to reveal their slick hips rolling together. Fili blushes, but also grows harder inside his brother. His hair and braids are being pullled aside from his neck and soon he can feel Thorin’s beard at the curve of his skin where his neck meets his shoulder. 

“Don’t teach me how to take my pleasure, lad.” He sounds almost dangerous and Fili can’t help a sharp stutter of his hips that makes Kili gasp.

He’s being marked, he can feel the teeth and lips drawing blood to the skin and he’s not sure if this is a punishment or a reward.

“Did you like that?” Thorin asks and Kili is nodding absently, his legs wrapping around Fili’s waist of their own accord. “Should I make him do that again?”

Thorin’s hand has somehow found its way to the planes of Fili’s belly, and the golden haired dwarf just _knows_ that he can, ever so effortlessly, make him do whatever he wants.

“Fuck your brother, Fili. I want to hear him like I heard you before – a horny pair of gits the both of you. I want to know what he feels like.”

As Fili squeezes his eyes shut, he can vaguely tell that Thorin’s hand has now found Kili’s shaft and is stroking it in time with Fili’s thrusts. This will not be a difficult task.


	7. Chapter 7

He switches to short hard thrusts that make Kili’s whole body jerk backwards, one of his hands reaching to pin his pelvis in place. He finds Thorin’s hand already there and finally connects it to needy little noises that started a moment ago when Kili’s cock was once more abandoned. 

“O-Oooh Mahal! H-hurts so good…” Kili is moaning, his hands splayed above his head.

“You’re getting loose, brother. Sloppy and loose. Surely your hole can give me more pleasure than this?” Fili grins, admiring his handiwork of a writhing mess in front of him and feeling a satisfying clench around his cock.

It’s now Thorin’s turn to gasp. “And what about your hole, Fili? Do you ever let your brother take you, fuck you hard and proper, like you deserve?”

There’s a hand on his back, trailing down his spine towards the curve of his arse. “Yes…” Fili can’t stop the confession, fingers curling on Kili’s hips.

“So do you ache…” A finger brushes over his entrance and Fili can’t believe this is happening – “in there? To be pushed down, fingered open and filled until your brother’s seed is trailing down your own legs?”

Kili senses his chance and establishes his own counter rhythm, pulling him closer with his legs. There’s a knowing look passing between the other two dwarves over his shoulder and Fili notices the small vial of oil changing owners. Fili feels like he’s now become their prey – he may be buried deep inside his brother but he knows, he’s about to take everything he’s given.

“Y-yes –“ He pants, as a single oiled digit pushes past the tight ring of muscles, just waiting there for him to fuck himself back on it as he moves. It’s a bit too much too soon, but he can’t bring himself to slow down or stop, the pulsing wet heat around his shaft just too tempting.

“Fili? What’s he done?” Kili can’t see from his position but looks like he will cause a riot unless he’s told.

“He –“

“That’s it. Tell your little brother what a wanton pretty whore you are. Tell him how you need me to do this for you.” Thorin is sounding hoarse, like it’s an effort to speak. 

“He’s making me fuck myself on his finger. Haaaah, it’s been such a long time since I – I need… I need more…” 

“Move that perfect arse, damn you. Earn it.” Thorin pulls out for a moment when Fili slows down again and slaps him hard on the arse.

Fili clenches on instinct against the sting but finds himself empty and can’t stop a whine escaping his lips. Kili gives him one of his most filthy grins and reaches behind him to spread his arse cheeks open for Thorin to see. 

“He’s ever so beautiful when he begs, isn’t he? That tight, pink pucker must be twitching by now…” Kili offers, as Fili feels himself stretch around the two digits being carefully inserted.

“F-fuuuck –“ He manages, moving more cautiously now and leaning down to claim his brother’s dirty mouth that he loves so much. It has indeed been a while and the combined pleasure of Kili’s hole and the fingers inside him are bringing him to the edge at an alarming rate. 

The kiss muffles most of the noises between them and for a moment Fili allows Kili to control the pace of their coupling. There is something carnal in letting the other move him and dictate how fast he’s taking it. 

He hesitates when a third thick finger presses inside, making his skin tighten impossibly, and he struggles to find more give within himself. 

“Lean on me.” Kili must be reading the discomfort on his face because he’s slowed them down to a leisurely grind. Fili does as he is told and tries to relax.

“Easy, Fili. It will be worth it, I promise.” Thorin murmurs behind him, adding more oil, until he can feel a few drops rolling down along his balls and the underside of his cock, joining the slickness around Kili’s entrance. “If you were to take me… this is what it would feel like.”

It’s that mental image that makes Fili push out a little, allowing the fingers to finally breach him. Kili looks like he’s being tortured beneath him, his mouth busy and urgent around his neck and ear, his cock twitching, trapped between the two of them. Thorin sounds strained behind them, where he’s starting to move his fingers inside Fili, filling him up almost to the point of breaking.

“P-please –“ The golden dwarf breathes heavily, his mind full of a fantasy in which Thorin becomes just as wild as he feels right now, using him up with no consideration or care, knowing that he can take it. He tries to lift up to take more of the fingers and nearly screams when he feels them push him forward, hitting his prostate hard.

“I said – didn’t I – fuck your brother, Fili. I would have thought you have learned to take orders by now.” 

_This is madness_ , he thinks, feeling himself sink all the way to the hilt inside Kili, who in turn throws his head to one side, moaning shamelessly. It feels like his entire body is on fire, like he’s about to die, like he could kill if this was about to stop.

Thorin pulls out almost completely and Fili is ashamed to discover that his flesh tightens, his arse reluctant to relinquish its hold, his whole hips following the movement. And then there’s that blinding white hot stab of pleasure as Thorin thrusts his fingers hard forward again, effectively making him skewer Kili anew. 

“F-Fili, please!” The youngest Durin is panting, his arse clenching around Fili’s length rhythmically, his orgasm so close, yet completely unobtainable. “Faster… Need it so bad, need –“ His voice breaks into a hoarse cry as Fili yet again pins him down to the bed. “Come on, just fucking give it to me!”

Fili would oblige if not for a fact that he’s just as close and just as helpless as his brother is. As it is, he merely manages to place his hand on Kili’s throat, limiting his breathing, letting him feel like he’s being owned. It’s Thorin who’s single-handedly fucking them both, setting the pace, depth and speed, until it’s ugly, ragged and primal, but oh so good. 

They’re going faster than feels comfortable, wet squelch of flesh on flesh and filthy moans reverberating through the room, magnifying the senseless need to just come and fall into the blissful oblivion.

It’s Kili who loses it first, untouched, almost arching clean off the bed and biting hard on his own fist to muffle a cry. This throws Fili a bit off balance, making him lean back and sink on Thorin’s fingers with all his weight, all the way to the knuckles. They dig oh so deep inside him, impaling that little bundle of nerves so hard it hurts and Fili can’t do anything but tremble and clench and spill himself deep inside his brother. It’s Thorin who swallows his moans, his hot waiting mouth covering his own, tongues battling for dominance naturally this time, before the darkness claims everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned, for there is more to come, my Precious~


	8. Chapter 8

It takes Kili a while to get back to his senses. Fili has virtually collapsed on top of him and appears to be out cold. He makes a mental note of this – never before have they fucked hard enough to make his brother pass out and Kili feels his competitive streak flaring up.

It’s surprising how well the smaller, lighter form of his kin fits with his own. He reaches to wrap an arm around Fili, like he always does – a mark of ownership, not affection, he will say if anyone ever cares to ask him – only to discover a calloused palm already resting between his brother’s shoulder blades, as if making sure that he’s breathing.

Thorin averts his eyes when confronted with Kili’s gaze. “I should –“

Kili grabs his wrist before he can think. “Where do you think you’re going? I will not let you brush this off as a one-time madness.” He says with heat, which in his mind translates to _I will not let you brush_ us _off as a one-time madness_.

“Nor will I.” They both startle at Fili’s hoarse declaration and Kili realises that he must have woken his brother up with the sudden movement. “We have wanted you for a long time and if anything I – I want you even more after what you did for us. I would not have you face your demons alone, uncle. Not anymore.”

Thorin _looks_ at them, that haunted look like he’s trying to see every moment of their past and their future yet to come. They don’t flinch, allowing his eyes to follow the smooth lines of their naked bodies, to look into their souls, to judge. Kili wishes he could do more than nod in agreement with his brother but the truly important words have already been said. 

“One day… you will make a great king, Fili, son of Dis.” Thorin smiles warily. “And you, Kili, will learn the true privilege and burden of being his sole source of strength.”

“Perhaps," Kili agrees. "But before that you will be king and we will be your armour and shield.” He hesitates. “If you let us.”

Thorin doesn’t respond, but a single heavy hand comes to rest on his knee. 

“Besides -” Kili can feel his lips curling up in a predatory smile “- I don’t think we’re quite done here.”

He’s been staring at Thorin’s thick shaft for a while now, thinking about how much he wants to touch it, feel its weight, take it inside him. It looks glorious – wider and longer than either of the brothers, swollen so it’s almost dark red in colour and glistening with precome. He knows Fili has noticed it too by the way his brother’s fingers started trailing his side and hip, by the way he’s swallowing, when he rests his head on top of Kili’s shoulder. 

Thorin looks almost surprised following their line of sight and noticing just how hard he still is. 

But it’s now _their_ turn. Their chance to take what they both wanted for a while.

Thorin doesn’t protest when they pull him on top of the bed. In an unspoken agreement Fili moves to support their uncle’s frame, placing a pillow between them to make him more comfortable. There’s no denying it – Thorin is hurt and they are careful not to worsen his injuries. 

Kili slides off the bed and takes a moment to watch the other two. He takes in how Fili buries his nose in Thorin’s hair, how his hand traces the well-defined muscles of his torso, gentle over the bandages, teasing around the nipples. Thorin for his part submits, which is unusual enough that it makes Kili’s spent cock twitch again. They look incredibly together – dark and golden, debauched and filthy, unashamed in asking for more or letting him watch. 

He tries to commit every detail, every sensation to memory as best as he can – the way Thorin grows wary of Fili teasing his jawline and the corner of his mouth and pulls him roughly by the hair for a demanding, if awkward kiss. The way the older dwarf appears to spread his legs a fraction wider in response to Fili’s ministrations. The shining drop of precome appearing at the tip of his cock, when Fili takes him in his hand, making him arch ever so slightly. 

“Durin’s beard, Kili! Make yourself useful.” Thorin’s slightly strained voice breaks the younger brother out of his spell.

He licks his lips and kneels by the edge of the bed between Thorin’s legs. There’s no real need, but he pushes them open wider, looking up sharply when it earns him a hiss of pain. 

The wound on the hip – he remembers. “S-Sorry.” He mutters, running his palms soothingly over the tops of his uncle’s thighs. 

He can smell sex, Thorin’s most intimate scent and it turns him on something chronic. He starts licking up the inside of his thigh in part because he wants to apologise for the discomfort he has caused and in part because he wants to taste Thorin too. 

There is a muffled gasp and Kili realises that Fili’s mouth is firmly attached to Thorin’s collar bone. The only part of his face visible between the cascade of golden locks is his bright blue eyes, which are locked on Kili over the expanse of Thorin’s chest and stomach, urging him on, challenging him. 

Kili grins and rubs his face against the older dwarf’s shaft. Two can play this game and he knows he’s got a good chance of winning. 

He will never forget the first moment when he took their uncle in his hand. He can’t quite close his fingers around it, but it feels hot and smooth to the touch. A heavy column of flesh is virtually pulsing in his hand, as he runs his fingers experimentally along its length. He strokes downwards and is surprised to find a simple metal stud ended with a metal ball on either end of it, fastened to the underside of Thorin’s cock.

The realisation hits him hard and he can no longer stop himself reaching down with one hand to urgently palm his own half hard cock. He’s now simply hungry for a proper taste of Thorin, hungry for his moans and pleads and everything in between.

As his lips close around the bulbous head and start licking curiously, his fingers tease the little nub of metal, then reach lower to weigh the swell of Thorin’s balls. 

Thorin curses and starts to reach for him but Fili catches his hand. “Uh-uh. He likes to tease. You have to let him, he will make it good for you in the end.” 

Kili smiles around the thickness in his mouth and moves his hand back to hold the base of Thorin’s cock firmly in place as he slides his mouth lower, taking more of it in. He starts bobbing his head up and down in a simple movement which makes him appear a novice to the art of satisfying another male, but offering enough friction that Thorin settles back down. 

Kili likes to think himself an expert in sucking cock, or more specifically, sucking Fili’s cock. They’ve spent countless hours honing his abilities, learning every sweet spot, every movement, every reaction. He knows how to keep his brother just on the every edge for hours, knows how to give it to him so he comes shaking and incoherent and can’t stop until it’s almost painful, knows how to drag an orgasm out of him within a few brief moments, if Fili simply needs to be calmed down quickly. 

The sloppy pace is merely an act, but he wants to surprise Thorin with his skill, wants his uncle to look him in the eye as an understanding of what a good little slut he is dawns on him. It’s only when Fili starts whispering something in Thorin’s ear and the older dwarf’s cock positively lunges, that Kili decides to stop fooling around. 

He laps at the head, the tip of his tongue cleaning the slit, just before he hollows his cheeks and turns his mouth into a hot flurry of suction. 

Thorin curses again, now far more urgently and arches up, but Fili holds him firmly down. “Let him.” He whispers again, before returning to what must be a filthy monologue right in Thorin’s ear.

Kili meanwhile makes it his sole ambition to make it difficult for his brother to maintain control. In this new found spirit of rivalry he takes more and more of the shaft with each roll of his head, never reducing the suction, until he can feel the tampered head hitting the back of his throat. 

His other hand speeds up on his own length and he moans, letting the vibration translate onto the flesh filling him. If only it could fill him in a different way - he can just about imagine, even just the head pushing into him, forcing him to stretch wider, then pulling out with a popping sensation.

He relaxes his jaw and tries to control his breathing for this next bit. He keeps forcing himself to take more and more until the sensation from his fantasy becomes real, when the head of Thorin’s cock finally pushes down his throat.

“Oh fuck! That’s it -” Thorin pants. 

Kili meanwhile gags. It’s too big, it won’t fit, he thinks, but there’s a hand in his hair, gently but insistently pushing it back down. 

He gulps a deep breath of air and slowly tries again, distracted by the fingers massaging his scalp. This time it works a bit better, except he’s still not able to breathe through his nose, so he’s forced to come up for air every now and again.

He’s rewarded for his efforts when Thorin’s hips start moving of their own accord, fucking his mouth in a quick two stroke rhythm. They have never seen their uncle like this – wild with desire, cursing and moaning - most of it swallowed by Fili - barely held in place by the two pairs of hands.

“I can’t – Mahal, I’m going to –“

Kili lets himself be used, imagining how it would feel to be impaled by such thickness, to let Thorin bottom out inside him. He’d scream – he imagines, like Fili nearly screamed with just the fingers inside him. He’d ache for days, but that single metal piercing pushing past his opening, teasing him, would make it worth it. He wonders how it would feel, dragging along his insides as Thorin starts to move – fast, erratic movements like the ones sliding down his throat now, how full Kili would feel when he is finally flooded him with come.

Kili comes in his own hand, when the taste of salty seed on his tongue briefly turns the fantasy real.

“Fre –“ He registers Thorin’s sharp cry, before he is forced to swallow again and again, eventually losing the battle and pulling away to cough frantically, allowing several thick splatters to land on his cheek.

They both hold the older dwarf through his aftershocks and while Fili’s eyes look at Kili with real hunger, there is no mistaking the troubled question also reflected in them.


	9. Chapter 9

They sleep until late in the afternoon that day, eventually woken up by the town folk arriving at the tavern after hard day’s work.

Fili offers a silent prayer to thank the Gods for the small mercy of a few more days before the Durin’s day is upon them. There has been very little contact from the other dwarves, save for Oin, coming to ask if they need anything. They don’t, as such, except eventually the brothers grow hungry, so Kili is sent to bring back supplies.

Thorin doesn’t wake until sunset – a deep, healing sleep, not a fitful nightmare-ridden slumber Fili has watched so many times in Ered Luin. For that also he is grateful.

For once they are safe, warm and recovering. But Fili’s mind wanders restlessly, as he tries to connect the dots. Thorin is a riddle of what ifs, would be’s and chances lost – he’s always known that. But then he himself feels like a riddle, his emotions running wild, words, fragments, a whole new dimension to what he knows and remembers. Doubt. And questions, so many questions.

“Why did you not wake me?” A gruff demand interrupts the chaos in his mind, as Thorin finally wakes and hauls himself heavily from the bed.

Fili calmly puffs out the smoke from his pipe, continuing to warm his feet by the fire. “Because you would have fallen off the pony the moment we tried to put you on one.” He takes another drag, eyes affixed on the fire.

“It was not your decision to take.” Thorin growls, as he eases himself carefully into a chair next to Fili. 

“I took it anyway. And I would take it again. You needed the precious few hours of rest I have bought you.” Defiance – he identifies the unusual emotion with a slight surprise. He’s almost angry, tired of blind obedience and the games they play. It was easy when his boundaries were clear. 

But now the boundaries have crumbled away.

“Do you honestly think so very little of your father’s homeland? Of our kingdom, rightfully yours, perhaps now lost forever?!”

“Do not lecture me for choosing a life over the gold and riches of Erebor. _Your_ life.” Fili hisses quietly, deadly like a storm brewing, finally meeting his uncle’s eyes with dark intent.

It’s that moment that Kili chooses to barge in through the door, carrying fresh bread, some cheese and a jug of beer. His smile withers as he realises he’s trespassed on something raw and pulsing.

“It isn’t that bad an injury that it wouldn’t heal on the road.” Thorin responds, clearly reigning his own emotions in check.

“It isn’t that much of a delay that we won’t make it to Erebor by Durin’s day.” Fili hears his brother say firmly, coming to stand beside him.

He sighs, automatically slipping into the familiar role of a peacemaker between the other two Durins.

“This is no time to argue. I meant no disrespect. I simply did what I considered best.” He takes the food from Kili and uses his small knife to split the bread and cheese between the three of them.

“Perhaps you are right.” Thorin concedes eventually, passing the bread to Kili, who perches on the edge of the table.

For a moment they eat in silence and Fili can almost pretend that they’re back at Ered Luin, their mother about to walk through the door and have an argument with Thorin about something insignificant.

“Go on then, let’s be done with it.” Their uncle offers once they have eaten, leaning close to Fili to light up his pipe from the smouldering embers. “It’s not like we are going anywhere tonight. You have questions, and the sooner they are asked the sooner you’re going to be out of my hair.”

Fili tries to gather his thoughts, but it’s Kili who in the end speaks first.

“Why did you – Was it only for relief?” His eyes are dark and fixed firmly on the floor. He expects to get hurt, Fili realises, and so help him Mahal, he will punch their uncle if –

“Gods, no.” Thorin snorts. “It would have been much easier if it was. There is a flame inside you that draws me. A flame which I too possessed once perhaps, now long gone.” He does something Fili isn’t expecting then and pulls Kili down by the back of his neck for an urgent kiss. Kili virtually falls off the table. “You taste of life.” Thorin breathes, before falling into silence, as if he said too much already.

“And me?” Fili asks quietly, a raging battle of uncertainty in his own mind. “The truth, uncle.”

“What of you?” Thorin transfers his gaze to him and it’s the haunted look, more than anything that makes Fili understand. “My heir, my nephew, my golden lad, my perfect, irresistible curse. The things I could do to you…”

Fili swallows audibly. He still feels the ache from the things Thorin could do to him. It’s the same luxurious depravity that Kili ever so effortlessly can cast him into, which is stirring low in his belly.

“You never gave us any sign.” Kili tries to protest, looking almost petulant.

“No. You were never meant to know.”

Fili almost laughs at an echo of his own thoughts when their uncle saw them last night for the first time. “I guess we took that decision ourselves anyway.”

Thorin’s lips actually curl up at that. “Yes, you have grown fond to those recently.” He sighs. “You have begun to see yourselves as my equals and it is a game that can only ever be played by equals. I would not take advantage of you; either of you. If it was ever to be at all – It had to be by your own choice.”

Fili nods, some of the elements of the riddle slotting into place. “You spoke a name of another.” He can stop himself no longer.

“Frerin.” The quiet word echoes around the room.

Fili will not press. The silence hangs heavy between them.

“He was my brother.” Thorin finally picks up. “Sometimes I think there is another sickness running through Durin’s line, a hunger that cannot be satisfied with mere wealth.”

“You never spoke of him.”

“He was – You have his looks, Fili - the same ridiculously golden hair, the same easy smiles, the same walk. But it’s Kili who has his personality – reckless, hot headed, always rushing to help despite the danger. I – he had my heart.” The older dwarf says simply and Fili can sense the world of pain behind these four words.

“Did anyone else know?” Fili asks, because it’s easier than imagining himself in the same position, without Kili.

“Only Dwalin. He covered for us. Got in the world of trouble for it too. And Dis. She has always been too sharp for her own good.”

The brothers chuckle at a surprisingly accurate description of their mother.

“And then?” Kili wants to know.

“He died. I couldn’t help him. Saw an orc slit his throat so deep you could see the bone. A favour I try to return whenever I can.” His voice turns into acid and Fili has never before seen such hatred in his uncle's eyes.

 _Thorin has more reason than most to hate orcs._ Did Balin know? Did he realise how much Thorin actually lost during the battle of Azanulbizar?

“After that I kept my distance - first out of anger, then fear, and finally out of duty. Nobody deserved to witness their king full of such loathing as I had for myself.”

Fili exhales the smoke slowly, head tilted back, eyes closed. He weighs his next words slowly, trying to synthesise the emotions twisting in his heart into a simple message.

“You could have this, you know?” Kili interjects. They have always understood one another without words. “You could have us. If you wanted…”

“Perhaps.” Thorin nods. “Once we retake Erebor and things are different. If you find you – You still want this, come and find me. But for fuck’s sake don’t go dancing around me like a pair of bashful maidens again. I don’t want to have to end up with stitches and a cast each time you two need a leg over. These things tend to work better when I can move properly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, I must have re-written this chapter like 8 times. It was haaard, I really hope it works -_-.


	10. Chapter 10

Frerin is sat on the windowsill that night. Recalled by the sound of own name, it seems, he keeps staring at Thorin with a wry smile on his lips.

“Dis’ sons.” He says. “They will burn. If they do, I will burn your soul.”

“They have names.”

“I had a name, once. Bones are bones, weapons are shattered.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“You fulfil that duty far better than I ever could, brother.”

“Then why are you -”

Frerin laughs, throwing his head back, until it almost rests against his shoulder blades. Thorin feels sick.

“You have the answer, but you do not see the question.” 

There’s so much he wants to tell his brother, so many questions he wants to ask him, but suddenly he can’t find his own voice. 

“I will be waiting.”

Thorin wakes up with a start and it’s all he can do not to cry out. The first thing he registers is pain in his chest – a broken rib protesting when he sits bolt upright in his bed. The second is Kili’s eyes watching him cautiously.

The brothers sleep together, curled up around each other. He can see Fili’s golden mane behind Kili and an arm possessively wrapped around his chest. 

“Sleep, lad. It’s nothing.” Thorin murmurs, his good arm coming to cradle the broken ribs as he shuffles back down. 

Kili looks like he could protest, but the discussion is over and Thorin closes his eyes again.

Another dream. More vivid now, and yet more distant. 

“I will fight by my brother’s side.” They are preparing for the battle of Azanulbizar. Both him and Frerin are wearing full battle armour. This is the last war council before the attack.

“You will take the right wing and he will take the left. I will lead the core. The cavalry could win or lose us this battle.” Thror announces, in a tone that will not bow to an argument.

“I should be with him! You know we fight better together!” He insists. Frerin stays quiet this time, selecting the best quality arrows for his quiver. 

Thror manhandles him around, forcing him to look at legion after legion of dwarves marching towards the battle field. “This is an army, lad! This is war! No meagre fighting competition where you and your brother pirouette around each other until every lass in a two mile radius is wet between her legs!” He can hear Frerin chuckling behind them. “An army needs to have strong leaders, needs to be seen to be led by people who will not buckle. People I can thrust, Thorin. Blood of my blood. I need you and your brother to charge on my mark, like the death itself. And I need my soldiers to follow you.”

Thorin has no reply to that. He knows the argument is solid, but there is anxiety in his veins. They have always had one another’s back.

“Fine.” He says eventually and the other him wants to take him by his arms and shout at him until he’s hoarse. 

Dwalin meets him outside the improvised battle tent. “What orders?” He asks simply.

“We take the right wing of cavalry. Frerin will take the left. We are to –“

“What?!”

“You heard me.” He pauses, tightening the straps of his sheath and glaring at his friend.

“And you agreed to this plan?!”

“I had no choice. The logic is correct.” He growls.

“Well fuck that! It’s a stupid arse plan and I ain’t following it! I never thought your balls were so far retracted that you would not stand up for our own brother!” Dwalin crosses his arms on his chest defiantly.

There isn’t the time to explain the fact that he had tried to resist and Thorin is angry because he didn’t succeed. He is angry because this decision was far more intimate for him and Frerin than anybody knew. When he is king things will be different, Thorin decides, lips closing into a narrow line.

Would the battle have ended differently if they listened to him? Would Thror weigh his opinion more if he told them about what they really shared? Probably not. But for Thorin it will forever be the case or regretting that he didn’t try rather than trying and regretting that it didn’t change anything. 

“You will do exactly as your prince commands you,” His younger self spits out meanwhile, straightening to his full height, which is still a couple of inches less than the tip of Dwalin’s mohawk. “You will obey me now and in battle, and you will learn to know your place. And when I want advice from my bodyguard I will ask for it.”

Dwalin takes a step back but doesn’t relent. “You will be distracted the whole time, trying to make sure that he is okay.” He counters. “You have never been in battle such as this, you don’t understand how much damage this will do. Lives will be lost today because of your errors, Thorin. I know your hunger for him and I know you will come to regret –“

Thorin has him by his armour in three quick steps.

“Do you? What do you know of my hunger for him? How dare you presume that you understand anything of _us_. How dare you imply that my brother isn’t perfectly capable of looking after himself. You know nothing, guard. If you ever again tell me how I should or shouldn’t look after Frerin, I will have you publically whipped, like a dog.”

Thorin’s anger is a terrible thing. He feels it tenfold now, when he knows just how wrong he was that day. And he is grateful for a friend who despite everything that had been said between them still followed him into the hell that awaited them without a word. A friend who found him later that night doubled over with grief over Frerin’s body and held him, as Thorin screamed like a madman and promised death to every god under the sun. 

 ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“I don’t suppose –“ Thorin is leaning against the mantle piece, while Fili packs the last of their things. Kili has already taken most of their packs downstairs. “I could persuade you two to stay here, could I?”

“No, you could not.”

Thorin sighs. He doesn’t believe in bad omens, but he ignored a warning once and he _is_ the king now – he will not make the same mistake again. 

“Has what you have learned about us made you think we will fail you, uncle?” Fili asks quietly, straightening to look him in the eyes. “Because we won’t. We will fight to the last drop of our –“

“No, Fili.” Thorin moves closer. “But I could not watch my own kin die again.”

“All our lives we have been preparing for this moment, Thorin. We are ready. We will stand beside you, you cannot stop us.” The golden haired dwarf searches his face for a moment. “You have said that we have learned to see ourselves as your equals. Then look at me as your equal and forbid me from going.”

He lets the internal battle rage on for a moment but deep inside his heart Thorin knows he has already lost. “And will you protect your brother? Whatever the cost?” He says instead.

“Of course. Like he will protect me.”

He reaches to pull him closer by the back of his head, until their foreheads meet. “Listen to me, lad. This single thing is yours and yours alone.”

“You – You changed your mind then.” His nephew hesitates. “You don’t want –“

“No, you misunderstand my meaning. What I said earlier stands. If the fate is generous to us – I will be waiting. But what you and your brother have is _yours_. Nobody else’s. Yours to care for, yours to suffer for, yours to decide about. I will never let anyone force you to do anything that may pull you apart and if I do, you must find it within you to choose your own way. There will be times when your duty to your people strips you of who you are and what’s important to you. But you must stay true to him. This one thing nobody can ever take away from you.”

“You scare me.” Fili whispers. “Why do you tell me this?”

He pauses in the door, Orcrist’s scabbard in his hand. “Because bones are bones and weapons are shattered, Fili. But if there was ever one thing truly important to me when I burned with a flame of my own – this was it. I have made myself forget it for decades but I was made to remember in those last two nights.” And with that he is gone.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point I should explain that I haven't in fact read the book and I'm trying to keep myself relatively spoiler-free for the 3rd film (except for the obvious spoiler). So this is the point where I truly start making things up in such a way that it might not fit with the canon ending. I suppose this is fiction after all.
> 
> I didn't want to re-write the scenes in DoS unless I absolutely had to and instead wanted to braid this three-way relationship into 'deleted scenes' or the bits we didn't get to see. I wanted to flesh the Durins out, because it's the characters I fell in love with, not so much the adventure. Which isn't to say that from now on things won't happen. So brace yourselves!
> 
> Also, apologies but this appears to be turning more and more Fili-centric. I try to rotate the POV, as was always the plan, but Fili gets so little screen time in the films that I just can't help trying to get into his head and to get him to react!
> 
> Finally, there should be 2 new chapters up today so stay tuned.

The fear is absolute. It wrenches Fili’s gut like he’s been stabbed.

“Kli?!” He watches helplessly as his brother is stopped dead in his tracks by a long, black arrow.

_He died. I couldn’t help him._

Such a plain description for a lifetime of agony. 

Up until now Frerin has been for Fili merely a ghost, a dwarf he’s never met, but in that split second he is alive in his mind. Alive and important like Kili still is, unarmed and vulnerable, just waiting for the killing blow to fall. Fili is no innocent – he has dealt death before and has seen it take away his own kin. He’s never feared it – never until now, when he’s watching his brother trying to scramble away from another orc approaching him with an ugly-looking knife.

“Kili.” Thorin reacts to his distress like some twisted echo. For a split second Fili wonders if it’s the same shocked disbelief that marred his face during the battle of Azanulbizar when he first heard.

And then there are arrows singing in the air and Fili couldn’t care less about where they’re coming from, only that they are protecting his brother and that he now stands a chance of having him back. 

_We could die tomorrow. What if this is the last time we can –_

He was so sure back then. It seems unthinkable that they would just… end like this. Fili has saved his brother’s life more times than he can count and in his mind he’s always the one to go first. He’ll take some stray knife or arrow for Kili one day and then he’ll watch over his brother, as he grows to be the king their uncle has always hoped for, as he grows old in king’s bed. Until then they hunt, they fight, they travel, they fuck, they steal moments, hours, days for themselves. A life that was never meant to be.

Suddenly there’s anger, white hot and burning through his very core. It’s _their_ life. He won’t let some filthy orc take it away from them. He won’t give up on it for the sake of the quest, their duties, the roles they have been assigned. Or Thorin. Nothing. If he is ever the king, they will continue to sneak out together, for as long as they need. This future is _important_ , this is their only way out if they want to stay as just Fili and Kili. 

_This single thing is yours and yours alone. If there was ever one thing truly important to me when I burned with a flame of my own – this was it._

Fili wants to kill every orc he can find from now on and make them _suffer_ for what they did to Kili. He wants to murder in cold blood for threatening the one tiny chance they’ve got at happiness. 

He thinks he sounds like his brother now, but can’t stop himself. It’s surprising how similar they are, when stripped of who they’re meant to be. 

Kili meanwhile is fighting again, getting up and clinging to the leaver until it yields, defiant and stubborn until the last. His brother challenges death the same way he challenges Fili. 

He watches, as Kili falls back, groans in pain and slowly starts crawling back towards the edge of the battlement. It only takes seconds, but it might as well be an age for Fili, as he struggles to keep his and Kili’s barrel in place against the torrent. 

The rest is a blur of roaring water, sickening worry about his brother and disgusting, raw need to push Thorin down and kiss him until he can’t breathe, can’t remember, can’t fight any more. Until he remembers what was truly important to him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I suppose this chapter needs a warning for attempted self-harm. Whoops.

“Let me take a look, let me help him.” Thorin rarely asks for anything, but this time Fili knows he will back off if he refuses. 

They are on the barge now. The brothers have taken the sole bench on the vessel and are using the moment of peace to re-dress Kili’s wound. All of the others have huddled on the opposite end of the boat, with Dwalin leaning against the mast like a boundary warden. It’s not private, but it allows Kili some space. 

Fili moves aside without a word. Thorin is the only other dwarf in the company beside himself that he would trust with his brother’s life. Kili’s head comes to rest on his shoulder and he breathes hard, watching through half-lidded eyes as their uncle sets to work. 

Fili has removed the makeshift dressing and cleaned the wound as best as he can. He knows what he needs to do next, but he isn’t sure he’s got the guts for it. 

Kili hisses when Thorin pries the edges of the wound apart, looking closely at it for a long while and feeling with his fingers. 

“I don’t think the bone is broken. The arrow head has missed it, but lodged itself quite deep.” The older dwarf offers finally. “I think you should be able to grasp it, if you are careful.” He straightens, looking at Fili.

“Me?!” He can’t hide the panic from his voice, eyes transfixed on the thin trail of blood dripping down his brother’s thigh. 

“It tends to work better when you have use of both hands.” Thorin reminds him dryly, using his teeth to rip the hem of his shirt into several long strips. 

“Fili –“ His brother whispers, pulling him lower by his shirt. “Please. I need you to do this.”

“I will –“

“Hurt me, I know.” Kili finishes for him seriously. “And yourself in the process. But I would rather it was you.”

“Surely there must be another way! If we just wait until we get to the town – They must have a healer there!” 

“I would rather it was you.” Kili repeats stubbornly and Fili can’t help but think of all those times when they were younger, constantly in need of patching up minor injuries.

“I think it may be poisoned. If it is, every moment that vile thing stays in his flesh, the venom spreads through his body. We do not have the luxury to wait any longer.” Thorin adds in a softer voice, his hand coming to rest on top of Fili’s shoulder.

“Oin then, surely he is more qualified to –“

“His skill is beyond question, but I will not have another tend to Durin’s line! Blood of our blood, you know your duty!” Fili would have more success arguing with a rock.

Dis is the royal bloodline healer, an artist in her work, perhaps one of the finest physicians among their people. A skill befitting the royal princess, honed to perfection over decades and with real interest. All his life Fili had been coming back home to find her medical chest open, his mother tending to the injuries of others. Wrapping a bandage around Kili’s ankle, re-setting Thorin’s shoulder or applying poultice to a nasty burn he got in the forge. On occasion he too had been on the receiving end of his mother’s gentle but firm treatment – when he was learning to throw knives this was nearly a daily occurrence.

He tries to focus on the memory, as he kneels by his brother’s side and takes one of the strips of fabric in his hand.

“A tourniquet first. As tight as you can, or he’ll bleed out the moment you remove the metal.” Thorin guides him in a calm, reassuring voice, taking Fili’s place and helping keep his brother sit upright. After a moment the youngest dwarf relaxes against his shoulder, uncharacteristically quiet and letting them do whatever they need.

Fili considers this. He needs the tourniquet above the wound, right at the top of Kili’s thigh. As if reading his mind Thorin reaches with his good arm to lift Kili’s leg under his knee, allowing Fili to wrap the fabric around and thread the loop over a stick. He shifts it a bit until he has the thick knot he tied resting directly above the artery.

He looks up to his brother. Kili has got a hand in Thorin’s shirt and is white as a sheet, but gives a barely perceptible nod. There’s no backing out now - Kili’s life truly is in the hands of two dwarves who spent most of their lifetime causing injuries, rather than treating them. 

Fili closes his eyes and starts twisting the stick around, tightening the bind until he feels resistance and then some more. They have been trained – of course they have. Dis would frequently pull them away from weapons training, or even the forge to have them witness how she deals with some particular illness or injury. They recognise that this is life-saving knowledge, so in this one respect she can easily overrule the royal word at any time. 

There are times when Thorin argues that putting bread on the table is more important, but he obediently follows her back home nevertheless. She takes the brothers with her up into the mountains to collect herbs, making them repeat their names and which symptom they relive. They practice too, usually on their own kin, under Dis’ watchful eye. Neither of the brothers is squeamish, having been brought up around burns, broken bones and blood. 

If Fili is honest, he will admit that Thorin probably has more experience, tutored by Dis since he himself was a lad. And although he’s always gruff about it and looks fairly threatening, Fili has seen their uncle pull a human child up by the scruff of its neck, sit it down and within five minutes expertly dress a scraped knee or two. 

But this is no sobbing child and no scraped knee. If Thorin is right about the poison, they will need to design a remedy. He doesn’t have the strength to pull the tourniquet any tighter, but it seems to be working – Kili’s breathing eases up and he reaches to take the stick out of Fili’s hands. 

“I’ve got it.” He tries to smile.

“You can’t let go of it, or you’ll bleed beyond what you can survive.” Thorin’s voice is stern, as he reaches to help.

“I said I’ve got it!” Kili snaps back. “And trust me, you will have _me_ to hold down instead. He won’t get very far if I keep pulling away.”

Fili bites his lip. This is the hardest part for him – not even causing Kili pain, but being unable to stop even when he screams.

The other two glare at each other for a moment, but then Thorin wraps his good arm around Kili’s chest. “You don’t need to see this, lad. Look at me.” He says quietly, while Fili scrubs his hands as best as he can and rips his trouser leg open. 

He places Kili’s calf between his legs, holding it in place with his thighs. “I swear, if you kick me in the stones, you brat, I’ll make sure yours are equally battered, arrow or no arrow in the leg!” He tries for humour, getting a weak smile in return.

It disappears immediately as he ever so carefully sinks his fingertips into the wound. Kili trashes in pain, but Thorin has him pinned down well. 

“I said look at me!” He growls. Kili hides his face in his hair instead. Their uncle doesn’t argue. “Breathe, Kili, just breathe with me.” Kili tries, his breath coming in sharp gasps against the side of the older dwarf’s neck. 

Fili thinks he can feel the tip of the metal. It’s indeed buried deep - he will do less damage pushing it forward to come out at a shallow angle than trying to wrench the hooked blade back. He grunts with the effort of angling the tip the way he wants it and presses hard.

Kili howls through his teeth into Thorin’s skin and Fili nearly stops. It takes all of his self-control to stop his hands from shaking, but he tells himself that the sooner he’s done, the sooner this agony ends for Kili. He’s vaguely aware that the cries are attracting everyone’s attention. 

“Just a little bit more, Kili, just a bit more.” Thorin ignores them altogether, focussing solely on his nephew. He doesn’t comment on Fili’s approach, instead keeping a low murmur of reassurance between them.

Dwalin straightens and in no uncertain terms encourages the others to mind their own business. There is no doubt that nobody is getting past him and those who try will end up with injuries of their own. 

Fili allows himself another breath when the tip finally breaks the skin and he’s able to pull his finger out of the wound. He tries to pry the arrow head out by the tip instead, feeling sick at the wet sucking noise this generates. Blood is dripping down his forearms and his hands are slippery with it.

“I’ve got it Kili, nearly there.” He tries not to think about how much it must hurt or how much blood his brother already lost, distracting himself instead with his previous train of thought. 

Dis has failed in her duty only once – when an epidemic of fever took her husband. She couldn’t save him, even though she used every scrap of her knowledge, every obscure remedy, even the most hard to get herbs. Kili doesn’t remember their father, but Fili is blessed or cursed with fragmented memories of a man who used to put him on his shoulders and laughingly charge the two of them against Thorin. 

He remembers that frightful night when their mother howled like an animal over the thin body in their father’s bed, remembers holding his terrified brother close, covering his eyes and curling up in the corner. Thorin rushing through the door, a flash of blade, moments later dropped to the floor as he twisted her wrist. 

She fought him for it, like he never saw her fight before, nearly overpowered him, but eventually sagged in his arms. They sat there on the floor for hours, his mother sobbing until she couldn’t breathe, Thorin curled around her, rocking her, stroking her hair softly and whispering constantly in her ear. Like she was a little girl who’d just had a nightmare, and he was her brave older brother again, protecting her from the monsters in the dark. 

And then she pulled herself together, bandaged her wrist and their uncle’s numerous scrapes and bruises and held her children through their own sobs when the shock finally wore off. Fili remembers that she kept whispering ‘I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry’ as she stayed by their bed until he fell asleep that night. 

_Blood of my blood,_ rushes through his mind, as the arrow head finally slips out of his brother’s flesh. Such is the truth about the suffering of the proud line of Durin, which nobody is allowed to see. This is how they love, how they fight and how they die. 

Kili slumps against Thorin’s chest, finally gulping his breath down. He’s bitten through his lip and he seems in shock, his fingers curled tightly on the stick connected to the tourniquet, shaking slightly. Fili wraps his fingers around his to still them.

“It’s out. It’s done, lad. The worst is over.” Their uncle’s hand moves higher to wipe the hair from his face. “You okay?” He asks softly, watching his face.

“’M fine.” Kili clearly isn’t, but they both instinctively try to hide their weakness from their uncle.

“Fili. Swap with me?” Thorin offers instead. 

He’s got half a mind to protest – he must apply the dressing now, but the internal need to hold his brother wins over. He needs to be sure, needs to check if Kili is okay in his own way.

“I’m so sorry, Kee. I had to.” He whispers over and over again, taking Thorins place, kissing and touching wherever he can. He listens to the hard breathing like it’s the most perfect song, finally letting himself shake. 

“Shut up.” His bother manages. “It wasn’t so–“

He’s cut off when Thorin closes his mouth around the wound and starts sucking hard. Fili remembers about the poison in the same moment as Kili tries to break free. He pushes him back down hard and Kili lets him, twisting his head to one side instead and giving a pained whimper. 

“You’ll need to… hold… my leg…” His brother groans and Fili realises that Thorin is struggling to keep his mouth in place because Kili can’t stop himself squirming. He pins it down by the knee while his mind fights an internal battle – after all the shaft could have been an ordinary one and Kili has already lost a lot of blood. 

The moment Thorin comes up for breath, spitting blood with specks of something black onto the deck, Fili knows that they have no choice. 

His blood runs cold when his and Thorin’s eyes meet in a silent understanding – even if the wound itself doesn’t kill Kili, they will need a minor miracle to neutralise the poison already in his blood. Every miniscule amount that Thorin manages to suck out could mean the difference between life and death. Kili’s death. 

Thorin bows his head again and presses the edges of the wound hard with his fingers. This time when he starts sucking again, Kili screams.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: wibbly-wobbly uses of medical knowledge. Mostly googled. I swear when the zombie apocalypse finally happens it will be the fic research that saves my life...

He isn’t quite sure how he got inside the house. He vaguely remembers Fili telling him to take a deep breath and stay calm. After that he was floating in the darkness, his brother’s hands pulling him somewhere. He couldn’t breathe, but he did not struggle – he figured Fili would have been underwater for just as long as he was. He’d know. He wouldn’t let him drown. 

After that he just felt cold. Incredibly cold.

“Higher! We need to elevate the leg –“ 

He catches fragments of conversation, but isn’t really paying attention. Both Thorin and Fili are rushing around him urgently. His leg hurts, but not as bad as before and he feels numb all over. Kili notices that the others have disappeared somewhere and he’s in a smaller room, possibly a bedroom, separated from the rest of the house. There are just the four of them in here and a man he vaguely remembers seeing before. 

“Hurry, we have already left that tourniquet on too long.”

“I’ll fetch the chair.” 

“- A clean, dry dressing.” Thorin is saying to the man, who he now remembers, is called Bard. “I need herbs. Something to bring down his fever.” 

Kili begins to shiver and is surprised when somebody notices and a wraps him up in a blanket, carefully tucking the edges in around him. This is better, even if his injured leg is still exposed.

“We should change his clothes. I can’t believe you told him to swim in this condition!”

“- Priorities, Fili! We need to remove the tourniquet or he might lose his leg. I can’t do this alone!“ Thorin’s voice sounds strained and they are silent for a moment. 

Kili loses focus again at that point, wondering vaguely why the other stays in the corner. He’s brought back to reality when there’s extra pressure too close to the wound to be comfortable. 

“Ready? On three then. One –“ Following his brother’s hands Kili realises with some surprise that there is a knife, wedged between the tourniquet and a dagger sheath protecting the skin of his leg.

He panics for a split second, afraid that they’re going to cut the wound open again, tries to crawl away, but in the next moment the pressure disappears and pain shoots through his leg, white hot and blinding. He arches off the table, grinding his teeth to stop himself screaming and registers a thin, hot rivulet running down the inside of his thigh.

Tourniquets – he remembers Oin telling him once – can save a life, but need to be removed as soon as possible. You remove them in one swift movement to restore the blood flow to the whole area to eliminate the risk of blood clots. 

He presses his face into a strong arm that is holding him down. “Easy, brother. Calm your breathing, calm your heartbeat.” Fili is guiding him, pressing a flannel to dry his face of sweat, tears and lake water. Thorin changes the dressing, helping himself with his teeth to tear the end of the fabric in two, making a neat knot of the two ends.

The pain comes to him in waves, but he rides it out, following Fili’s voice like a ship follows the light of a lighhouse. It’s only when it dies down to a dull pulsing that he can focus on his surroundings again.

“Herbs!” Thorin snaps at Bard again, which sends the man scurrying out of the room. “He’s dripping wet and cold, he’ll go into a shock at this rate!” He tells Fili, his next priority set. “We need to dry him and warm him up.”

He’s grateful that Bard is gone when Fili strips him quickly and efficiently with practiced movements. It’s not even that he’s ashamed or overly modest, but this sort of thing has always been done only in front of his closest relatives, or just Fili and he feels awkward to have the other dwarf watching him, much less a stranger like the Laketown dweller. 

Thorin meanwhile is pressing a clean strip of fabric to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding and cursing in Khuzdul under his breath. Kili’s trousers are cut open to save him from having to bend his leg and he shivers again when he’s finally left naked. With slight puzzlement he watches Thorin stop Fili when he starts to strip as well. 

“No. You’ll do a better job preparing the medicine and bandaging it.” He says simply, reaching to pull his own shirt open. “Let me be of use where I can. I will tell you what to do, you won’t be left to do this on your own.” He offers more calmly, stepping out of his boots. 

They stare at each other for a moment until Fili gives a barely perceptible nod. 

Kili tries to be careful as he curls up to his uncle’s broad chest, remembering that Thorin too is hurt. The older dwarf doesn’t have such reservations, pulling him closer until they’re flush skin to skin. His good arm wraps around Kili’s back, while his injured one is trapped between them. 

Kili thinks that it should feel awkward between the two of them, but first and foremost he’s simply freezing and Thorin’s body is warm. He clings to it, settling on his side, while Fili covers them both with dry blankets.

“Hang in there, lad.” Thorin murmurs into his hair, holding him through his shivers. “I need you to focus, Kili. Need you to tell me how you feel, keep talking to me. Need to know the symptoms.” 

Kili tries, but his leg is pulsing with dull pain and he can’t stop shaking no matter how hard he tries to calm himself down. His mind feels sluggish, scraps of thoughts rushing through it, something distinctly not right fighting for his attention. 

Bard appears within his vision for a brief moment, bringing pouches and jars, before disappearing again.

“Boil the water, clean the wound.” Thorin is saying, just as Kili dares to trace his fingers over his waist line, to wrap his arm around him. This is nice - being able to do this, being able to find soft and sensitive shin, where he’s always known Thorin to be nothing but hard and unyielding. He closes his eyes and reasons that he’d rather not be awake for whatever further treatment they decide he needs. 

“Symptoms!” Thorin bellows again, jerking Kili awake.

“Come on, little brother, listen to him. Follow Thorin’s voice.” Fili is telling him sternly, looking through the medicine pouches brought by their host, smelling them, selecting some, discarding others.

Kili hesitates. A lifetime of appearing strong in front of Thorin’s judging eyes isn’t a habit easily broken. He wants to say he’s fine and he just needs a little nap to get better. He wants them to stop looking at him like this, like he’s _weak_.

But then there’s _this_. There’s his hand between Thorin’s shoulder blades, skin radiating warmth, closeness he’s never been allowed to feel before… There’s a memory of another time, tinted with regret that they didn’t get to do _this_. There’s no place for lies when it comes to sharing something so intimate. Kili opens up to his bed partners, holding nothing back, lets them read him like a book, because this is the level of trust you need to truly enjoy the experience. This, now, isn’t sex, he knows. But he’s crossed that line with Thorin now and it’s too late to go back. 

“Kili!” Thorin insists and this time Fili is there as well. 

“Please.” His brother whispers. “I need you to stay awake. You are going into a shock Kili, a shock which will kill you sooner than the arrow wound will, unless you fight it. I need you to fight. Stay awake, Kili.” Thorin shoots him a sharp look but doesn’t argue. 

“He is not a child and he doesn’t appreciate being treated like one.” Fili reminds him calmly before getting to the point. “This was a poison shaft, Thorin. You saw this as well as I did. You tasted the poison when you sucked it out. I can treat the symptoms, but I don’t know the antidote. I have never seen this poison treated in Ered Luin, have you?” 

Thorin is quiet for a moment, clearly struggling to remember. 

Kili feels strangely proud of his brother, pulling his consciousness back together with enormous effort. He tells himself to diagnose himself like he’s been taught. It’s a battle to keep his eyes open but there is a faintest hint of a memory that seems important.

“No. I have seen this type of poison several times, but always on dead bodies.” The older dwarf finally speaks. 

Red. A basket of apples spilled across the road, trampled into the mud with paws and boots during a massacre. He feels so tired now when the shivers are finally subsiding. If he could just get some sleep… But Fili said to stay awake. He will fight. Like they fought. _Helen_ … 

“Oin will know. I will go and ask him –“ Fili rushes towards the door, but Thorin stops him dead in his tracks.

“Already did, when we were still on the barge. He said there was no cure, that the evil that has born such a vile thing would surely claim its victim –“ 

Fili looks white as a sheet as he steps closer. “What are you saying?” His voice is dangerous, Kili knows, deadly dangerous and pregnant with darkness deep within his brother, normally reigned in with iron self-control. There are very few things in this world that can get his Fili like this. He tries to say as much, tries to warn Thorin, but it comes out as a quiet whimper. 

_Helen_.

“- I know this isn’t true, though.” Thorin raises himself on his elbow, temper equally rising. “My brother once spoke of a man who sneaked into the dark fortress in search of treasure. He was found half dead from a single would from a morgul blade. A man who lived.”

Kili balances precariously between the conversation, fragments of his memories and blissful oblivion that seems to be calling out to him. He has to choose. He only has the presence of mind to follow one of the roads available to him.

“So Frerin knew. Did he tell you?”

It’s the memory that he falls into eventually, conversation ripping into fragments around him. 

It was strange. Not even strange in the scale of Kili’s everyday life, but strange in the scale of Ered Luin, of everything anyone in that area knew or saw. It was a _bad_ place.

“I didn’t think to ask. We were merely youngsters then. We found the morbid tale interesting.” Thorin responds.

Kili was young. Can’t remember how old exactly, but he didn’t even have a stubble back then. The girl was six. She was a human child. Her name was…

“- Then what use is your _dead_ brother now?!”

“Fili! Do you honestly think that I’m any less –“ He’s surrounded by anger now and the cold is returning for him. “We have to use what we have and hope –“ Kili wishes they wouldn’t shout so much when he’s trying to sleep.

Her name was _Helen_. How does he know it, if she was but a corpse? Corpses have no names. At least no names they could tell you. And she was a corpse, with that deep gash across her stomach. Or was she?

“Mahal, he’s slipping away! Kili!”

The voices rise now, sometimes tinged with panic and the pain in his leg flares, pulling him away from the memory. “- yarrow, chickweed, lobelia. There must be a healer in this town. If you’d just let me –“ He manages to catch.

He remembers picking her up and carrying her towards the others. Because she should be with the others. Others? Yes, there were others…

“Durin’s blood. You know our –“

It was a caravan. He’d been hunting with his mother, because Thorin had a big order of weapons to fulfil in the forge. He’d taken Fili with him to help. They were working dawn to dusk and somebody had to put the food on the table. Dis had been trailing a deer for the better part of that day, her youngest in tow, learning the skills. They walked out into the open road, intent on crossing it to follow the buck. It was the birds that drew them to their grisly discovery.

“Kili!!” The scream sounds very far now.

He had been told to hide in the canopy by the road and wait. Only come out if there was a whistle. He sunk back into the low undergrowth while Dis knocked on an arrow and carefully walked on. He tripped over the corpse, Helen, while looking for the best hiding spot. It was only the weak splutter when he accidentally knocked the body over that told him that she was _not_ a corpse in fact. She must have tried to run when it started…

A sharp slap to his face threatens to snap his tenuous hold on the memory, which he had almost purposefully forgot.

It was strange. The others were dead. It was no orc pack, nor a wild animal that killed them. The bodies were mutilated, like nothing he or Dis had ever seen. She took the child from his hands and told him they had to go, _now_. ‘We should at least bury them’, he said. ‘No. There is evil here that I do not understand. These people were slain with a blade made out of malice and darkness itself. We will die if we stay.’ She responded, ducking back into the cover of the trees.

There are echoes around him, but he ignores them, as the memory finally comes to focus.

“Well?” Somebody asks. 

He can’t remember why it was so important. Why was he struggling so hard to bring this picture back to mind. Fili would know.

Fili? _Fili!_

 _Helen_. The girl’s name was Helen. He knows this because she told him. The single word she told them. The girl who had been struck by a morgul blade. The girl who lived, because Dis treated her with –

 _Kingsfoil_.

He knows! He wants to tell them he knows, that they don’t need a healer any more, that they shouldn’t argue. Because Kili knows the one thing that will save him.

But he can’t hear them anymore. He’s alone and there is only darkness.


	14. Chapter 14

“He breathes.”

Fili slides down to the floor, resting his back against the side of the bed. It looks like he doesn’t trust his legs to support him.

“Probably just passed out from the blood loss.”

“Your body warmth has saved his life then. Must have broken the spell of shock he was going into.” He throws his head back, closing his eyes to rest it on top of the blanket. He looks exhausted.

“Or perhaps it was the herbs you chose.” Thorin counters. “The point is – he’s burning up, his pulse is shallower than I would have liked, but his body has taken on the fight. You have done well.” He rests his hand on youngster’s shoulder, sitting up at the side of the bed beside him.

Fili feels cold beneath his fingers. His hair is still wet and even though it’s not quite yet winter, there is an unpleasant chill in the air. The lad is quiet, or quieter than normal. Dis’ oldest has always preferred to observe, rather than get involved. He comments when asked for opinion, but never forces it on his listeners. And as their burglar has quickly learned, he offers his easy friendship like he’s just another dwarf and not a royal heir to the throne. He never demands respect, but is given it nevertheless, with the same effortless ease as Thorin is.

“I have thought him foolish.” Thorin says eventually, when it becomes obvious that Fili will not contribute to the conversation, too lost in the whirlwind of his own thoughts. He finds himself on a receiving end of a burning blue stare that almost makes him pause. 

“He saved your life.” Fili says slowly.

“Aye. And now he’s paying the price. I’m not sure my life is worth as much.” They stare one another down and although Fili is on the floor and Thorin doesn’t have a scrap of fabric on him, neither backs off awkwardly. He enjoys being spoken to as just Thorin – no more no less. 

They are also both equally skilled at hiding their pain. Neither is unaffected by the presence of a third, perhaps mortally wounded dwarf in the room, but there is no space between them for words of comfort and empty reassurances. But where Dis and Thorin will lash out until the world has burned to the ground, Fili, like his father, will not. Had this been Frerin lying in the bed right now instead of the youngest heir, Thorin could be found tracking the orc pack, cutting them down one by one until he got the orc archer and fed him his iron in small, painful increments. He almost wishes Fili would do that, would run and kill and get it out of his system. Because when he doesn’t, Thorin knows that there is a price yet to be paid, a debt unsettled. Something Thorin may not be able to control.

“He saved yours as well.” The older dwarf adds quietly. “And everybody else’s. I judge his recklessness harshly, where you see courage, because I have seen the bitter coin exchanged for it. In truth though, I would have killed us all if not for his quick wits.” It costs him dearly to say this, but Fili deserves to hear every word.

The blonde looks away then, eyes roaming the simple furnishings of Bard’s bedroom. “Do you think he’ll live?”

Thorin hesitates, listening to the slow, laboured snores behind him.

“I – I trust your judgement in this.” Fili stops him answering, selecting his words carefully. “If it was me in that bed, I’d trust your hand. Because between you, me and him there are only the consequences of our actions, nothing more. But I want the truth, I want to know if there honestly is nothing else I can do for him.”

Thorin sighs, not for the first time feeling helpless and inadequate. “Sleep is the best cure for him right now. I do not know the exact effects of this poison nor the antidote, but he is young and strong. So long as we keep the fever and the pain under control, he stands a chance.” 

He pulls on his breaches and wraps himself in a spare blanket. “Now then. You are soaked to the bone, Fili. You will do him no favours if you come down with a fever of your own. Get out of those clothes – I will bring hot water and something to eat, if I can.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The cool air feels icy on his naked skin. Dwarves are made to be wrapped up in layers, which is perhaps more true for Fili than most, considering his naturally slim build and love for throwing knives. He feels exposed in more ways than one where the last rays of the dying sun slide over his body.

Thorin is true to his word and brings a big bucket of boiled water and a bowl of runny soup with some bread. After that, he promptly disappears again, saying something about inspecting the weapons provided to them. 

Fili is hungry, but not in the mood for eating, so he leaves the bowl next to the fireplace he has re-kindled earlier and pours some of the hot water into a pitcher to set to one side. The washing process is perfunctory and he’s drawing little pleasure from the hot water running down his skin or his own fingers untangling his hair. He wishes the Elves had left him with his beads at least – it’s not like he could choke one of them to death with one of those (although if that blonde traitor of a king laid a hand on his brother he’s sure he’d give it a damn good try).

Kili stirs from time to time, muttering words he can barely understand and curling up on his side. Most of the time the sounds escaping him are just painful groans, every time he moves his leg unwittingly. From time to time he squirms, like he’s trying to get away from something, his whole body tensing up.

Fili pulls on a simple white linen shirt about five sizes too big and a pair of equally loose, cropped trousers provided by their host. He takes a moment to roll up his overlong sleeves and lay his own soaked clothes in front of the fire before approaching his brother with the bowl of soup.

“Kili. You need to eat something.” He shakes his brother gently, to no effect. “Come on you sloth, five more minutes isn’t going to cut it.” He tries for humour, jerking Kili’s arm as hard as he dares. 

A cold dread fills him when this too doesn’t rouse his brother. What if Kili never wakes up again? What if the shock has done its damage after all and Kili’s broken body can only just about sustain his breathing and the nightmares, until it withers away over days and weeks. He remembers the fever that had taken away their father. He remembers how thin he had become before –

Fili bites his lip hard and tells himself sternly to shut up and eat the soup while it’s at least luke-warm. It’s not like him to be this pessimistic, but the little black specks on the deck of the barge among Kili’s blood haunt him, until it’s the only thing he can think about. 

_Why could it not be me?! Durin’s blood, so precious yet so easily spilled._

Kili’s body is losing the battle against the poison minute by minute. It isn’t obvious, but Fili knows every gasp, every twist of his brother’s body by heart. He sees the darkening of his normally healthy olive skin, sees the shadows under his eyes and the way the infection effortlessly spreads through his leg.

Kili is a fighter, but contrary to what Thorin says, he isn’t fighting right now. Or at least he’s not fighting as hard as Fili would expect him to. He takes up a clean flannel, soaks it in hot water and begins wiping the sweat, cleaning his brother’s skin. And he looks, _really_ looks. 

The cold sweat, shallow, hurried breathing, his pulse, the way he fists the sheets in his palms, the cries escaping him. Sometimes it looks like he almost comes round and Fili uses those precious moments to get him to drink some of the herbal infusion he’s prepared to battle the fever. He drinks carefully, occasionally coughs, tries to say something, his glossy eyes not really registering him, but soon his head rolls to one side and Fili is left to wonder if this was the last time.

He commits everything to memory with cruel detail, forcing himself to watch the suffering he had caused. He wasn’t close enough. He wasn’t paying attention. He wasn’t quick enough. He doesn’t know enough about healing. It’s like Thorin said: Kili is now paying the price.

There is also something afoot here that he doesn’t quite understand. The darkness within the small room appears to grow and Kili seems even smaller against it. There is an evil in the air that Fili senses by the rising hair at the back of his neck and it seems to him like there is something lurking, waiting just out of the corner of his eye. He feels watched, even though no one comes or goes from the small bedroom. His instincts tell him to fight, but there is no one to fight with.

Minutes merge into hours, but there is no respite for the injured, nor for his carer. 

“Come on you brat! Fight it! Fight for me.” He whispers sometimes heatedly, urging on and pleading, dreading that his brother can see what he can’t. “It’s not like you to just lie on your back and take it like this.”

Other times he just lets his shoulders shake soundlessly, gasping for air, terrified that this is the end, begging for forgiveness and promising that he won’t let Kili go alone. 

Around midnight Thorin comes in with a fresh bucket of hot water and tells him to get some sleep. He thinks to argue, but the dwarf simply stands behind him and suddenly there are fingers digging hard into the tight knots in his neck and shoulders. Fili moans against his own will, feeling his shoulders drop, muscles melting where Thorin circles his thumbs firmly.

“Are you quite done wallowing in self-pity?” He’s close, closer than he should be, his words in contrast with his actions. The physical proximity is disarming the last of Fili’s barriers, as he wonders vaguely how Thorin knew. He bows his head to give him better access to his neck, where he is squeezing the sides of his spine. “You are no use to him dead, Fili. Sit by the fire. It’s cold in here.”

He’s lead to a chair and wrapped up in a blanket. He makes himself comfortable, but knows that no sleep will be coming to him tonight, as he listens to Thorin change the bandages and prepare a fresh cup of the herbal infusion.

_I could not watch my own kin die again._

_Will you kiss me? If I jump and survive, will you kiss me?_

Fili closes his eyes, letting his demons run free. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for: fairly graphic depictions of violence and torture.
> 
> *coughmymuselikesitroughcough*

**I see you.**

The voice is a sinister whisper in his ear. It comes from nowhere and cuts through his very core with ease that terrifies him. His instinct tells him to run, but Kili ignores the little hairs raising on his arms and the nape of his neck. He has never turned his back on an enemy and he doesn’t plan to now.

**I see you...**

It slures, this time with a sickening degree of intimacy and he shivers, trying to see through the cold, empty darkness. It’s stifling, he can’t breathe properly and his leg is positively pulsing with pain, every heartbeat like a punishing blow. 

**Princeling.**

The pain flares and he drops to his knees, gagging as his head feels like it’s being ripped apart, fragments of thoughts and memories being scattered around carelessly.

‘Get out!’

Something spreads through his leg, icy cold and sickening and Kili gasps, clutching at the wound, tearing something in his fingers, for a brief second terrified that he’s torn the skin.

 **Mine.**

There’s a snarl as something rips him open, throwing him back, taking, taking _taking_ , destroying, leaving nothing but ashes behind.

Fili! He thinks, fighting with every ounce of his being to keep himself together while the firestorm rages in his blood, in his mind, in his soul, terrible, unstoppable, violating him with laughable ease.

Finally it seems satisfied with what is has learned from him and it leaves him alone, its presence only signified by a low growl at the back of his mind and a fierce desire to hack his own leg off. 

He pants, curling up into a ball, sick with regret at how much of himself he has just lost. There is something important he’s meant to remember, but it has been completely burned out of him and he pushes it away.

‘Show yourself!’ He spits out, thinking about how Thorin fought with a simple oaken branch against a foe much stronger than himself. He’s Durin’s blood. He will not be so easily destroyed.

Fire. All-consuming, searing fire and agony and death, exploding, shattering, claiming him, yet hollow in its purpose. Kili screams, scrambles to get away from it, claws at the pieces of him that are being stripped away. An eye, no, a person, a _thing_ ancient and evil like nothing in this world. Senseless, pointless cruelty that has no name, so enormous that against it Kili isn’t even a speck of dust. 

It stares at him, at his bare soul, burns through it, carefully collects each and every worst nightmare he’s ever had, every fear, every precious particle ripped apart and he can’t stop screaming. It searches, for something, something, _something precious_ he had never seen, not even imagined, riches of Erebor in front of his eyes and stories of Arkenstone that are merely worthless trinkets.

‘I don’t know, I don’t have it, I can’t be of use to you!’ He finds himself crying out, desperate for it to see.

**You will… find it for me. You will let it corrupt you and you will -**

‘You have no power over me. I am no meagre princeling. I am… an heir of Durin.’ There is blood everywhere, choking him and his leg feels like acid is searing flesh off his bones. He has never known pain quite like it. ‘I am Kili, son of –‘

**\- Entertain.**

He arches up when the vision burns into his skull, vivid and real like his own shattered self.

Thorin screams. His dark blue eyes are locked on Kili even as he twists the handle, laughing as the body beneath his fingers trashes helplessly. He struggles to get away, all muscles hard and straining and Kili thinks he looks beautiful like this – bloodied, breathing hard, hair plastered to his face with sweat, eyes brimming with pain.

‘What are you doing?! No!’

**I have corrupted dozens of kings. Wills forged in iron, tried and tested, falling at my command.**

Fili doesn’t flinch, doesn’t avoid the contact. Never once had in his life, that core of unconditional trust still strong within him. No matter what Kili does to him, the perfect older brother just lets him do with him as he pleases, taking everything Kili has to give like some sick parody of intimacy they once shared. 

‘No, no, no, no! Leave him alone!’

**You will bring them to me… in chains. Your riches paying for my army, your dear ones broken by your own hands.**

“No more, please! I can’t, I can’t take it!” Thorin begs him as he raises the whip again. Kili gags and retches but there’s no bile coming up his throat as he watches the same whipping marks that fascinated, no, horrified him, merely a few days earlier, now carved anew into his uncle’s back. Deep, red welts that will mark him forever. The humiliation of the king. 

“End it.” Thorin whispers for the first time and Kili smiles. 

‘Never! I’ll never become this – this _thing_. I’d rather die a hundred times over, I will never –‘

Deep in the very core of his soul Kili knows that there are no memories he has, or could possibly make, that could ever wipe these images from his mind.

**The pain… breaks them all in the end.**

“Why, I thank you, brother. For taking such good care of my wound. Let me return the favour.” 

Fili still doesn’t move away. He screams until he can’t catch his breath any more, but when Kili caresses his face afterwards with mock gentleness, he still leans into his hand and Kili realises with some surprise that he’s whispering something, has been whispering all this time, through everything Kili did to him. He leans in to listen, fascinated, until bloodied lips virtually brush his ear.

“You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re –“

‘It had to be done. They saved my life! No, no, no, no, please, no! I was dying!’

**No. Death isn’t for you.**

The next time the door opens, Fili does flinch. 

‘NO! Not him, please! Do anything you want with me, but don’t –‘

There is something very wrong with Fili’s movements, but he scrambles away from Thorin’s body frantically, away from Kili, until his back hits the opposite wall. There is blind, absolute terror in his eyes, as he tries to make himself look even smaller, shield himself with his bruised arms, pulling one leg up to his chest.

“Have you been comforting our uncle, Fili?”

He feels sick again when he realises what he must have done to turn Fili into this mindless creature of agony and fear. What it must have taken to break him. He knows exactly how much his brother can take. 

‘Not this! Not him, not like that, never like that, not _him_ no, no, no, _no!_ ’

His thoughts are howling on repeat in his head and the searing agony in his leg doesn’t matter anymore, not now when he can feel himself _breaking_. 

“Watch. Because the more you have lost, the less you have left to lose.”

**You are what I made you.**

"You’re alive." His brother’s lips repeating soundlessly. 

Fili’s shoulders shaking, translating into tiny, delicate tremors against his shoulder. _Helpless_ \- he has never seen his brother this helpless before. 

_Not him! Not like this!_

“Focus!” _You brat. Fight it. Fight it for me!_ “What is truly important?!” He realises now that it’s the other one yelling at him.

**They always reach for it in the end.**

‘Help me!’ He wants to cry out, but he doesn’t have the strength. The pain is excruciating now, ripping his whole consciousness to shreds.

“You’re alive.” Fili says, as they make him drink something bitter tasting. Thorin’s eyes look like a stormy sky, when his face fills his vision.

“Come on! You’re forgetting something. What is truly important, right now?! Durin’s beard, I swear they get thicker down the line!”

Right now Kili is the one in the tiny, stone cell, cowering against the damp wall, like a tortured animal. ‘I’m so sorry, Fili! I’m so sorry! I couldn’t stop!’

Fili flinches away.

 _No more, please! I can’t, I can’t take it!_

‘I will go mad here. This is how it ends.’

A snort. “What do you know about endings?” 

He is coming closer now from where he was standing by the fire all this time. There is despair and longing in his eyes when he looks at him, really _looks_ at him for a long moment, like he’s trying to learn all there is to know about Kili, the expression on his face saying that he won’t beg and he won’t thank him for his pity.

Fili’s screams echo in his head and they’re almost the same person, in fact they might be, it’s hard to tell, impossible to concentrate among the agony.

“What are you forgetting?”

**There is nothing. Nothing but the pain.**

“What’s your name?”

‘Who are you?’

_Corpses have no names. At least no names they could tell you._

_I had a name once._

“-li. You were screaming. Come on, wake up! I could hear you scream. Aule help me, wake up, please!” 

Thorin is asleep, covered with a blanket and he’s relieved that he can’t see the blood any more. It’s dark and quiet, but there’s a fire different than the one before and Fili isn’t flinching where he presses their foreheads together. 

“Not yet.” And he’s effortlessly yanked away back into the darkness. 

The other one slowly turns around, fingers reluctantly slipping away from Thorin’s hair. 

There were four of them in the room, right from the start.

_Helen. Her name was Helen. She was not a corpse._

The other Fili’s hair is also golden, but a slightly darker shade. Like honey, sweet, hot honey. Longer, much longer, almost reaching his waist, but completely unruly and unbraided, framing his face with shorter strands. The most unusual hazel eyes tell a story that makes his breath catch in his throat and overshadow even the fire in his leg. He’s got exactly the same, springy walk as he stands directly next to the bed and crouches down. Lips curling up, laugher in the corners of his eyes. He knows that smile, he’s kissed that corner of that mouth a thousand times. 

‘Kili. My name is Kili. I am of Durin's line. I don’t belong here.’

_You’re alive._

Something roars furiously in the distance and he thinks he actually groans when the pain spikes again.

“Kili?!”

‘No! Never him! Not _him_! I won’t let you!’

He scrambles to get away, to shake his brother’s hands off his shoulders.

“Should I tell you a secret, Little One?” 

“Kili! You’re safe, I swear! It’s me! It’s just me! You need to wake up!”

“A secret for a promise.”

‘Tell me.’

It feels cold, but familiar and intimate when fingers cradle the back of his head and the howling wind outside whispers right in his ear.

 

_Kingsfoil._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thorin jerks himself awake when the cold draught in the room slides along the side of his arm. He’s surprised to note that his back had been covered with a blanket and that he appears to have fallen asleep half on top of a bed. Guilt rises easy and familiar when he remembers the orcs and the screams of his youngest heir. 

Fili is cradling his brother to his chest, rocking the body soothingly in his arms. For a moment cold dread fills Thorin’s heart and all he can see is a battlefield full of broken bodies and one more lifeless form in his own arms.

But the brothers are whispering, he realises, so quiet that they can only hear one another because of how close together they are. Fili is speaking almost constantly, a soft, reassuring murmur, as if so long as he talks, the other will pay attention and stay with him. 

Kili seems to be saying only one word over and over again, soundlessly at first, then with a bit more strength, like it’s a battle that he has to win, a hoarse whisper that he cannot quite catch. 

Fili freezes and pulls away a bit to watch his brother’s face. 

“Are you sure?”

If he sees a response in Kili’s eyes, Thorin misses it completely, but next thing he knows, Fili is kissing his brother, shamelessly, deeply, _desperately_ , in a way that defies their situation. 

When he comes up for air Kili appears to have ran out of whatever energy reserves he possessed, and his head rolls back with a sigh, as he slips back into an uneasy sleep.

“I need to go.” The blonde throws him an urgent look and pulls a vest over his thin shirt.

Thorin has questions and he’s about to protest, but the younger dwarf is out of the door before he can open his mouth.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Go. I will watch over him for as long as I can.”


	16. Chapter 16

Finding the herb turns out to be a surprisingly easy job, because although he has to sneak quite far from Bard’s house, there is no need to make his way out of the town itself. He almost misses the plant, neatly stacked in a crib for some farm animals, but his trained eyes make him take a second look. The relief is immense as he makes his way back and he’s grateful that in the early morning hours the few denizens of Laketown still outside are mostly drunkards, who pay him no mind.

There are four maybe five of them hiding in the shadows, waiting for him. He slows down but doesn’t stop, hiding the little precious bundle in the folds of his vest. Two of the foul creatures come out to meet him, their ugly faces leering. 

“And what have we here? A poor little dwarfling all alone?” The orc unsheathes an ugly-looking sword and all Fili can do is remember another ugly-looking knife aimed at his brother. “What do you think boys? Should we make him scream?”

Fili stays calm while wild jeers sound around him and two others surround him from the back. He carries his brother’s medicine. The one thing that can save his life. He _will_ deliver it, whatever the price. 

“What’s the hurry?” He finally stops as a sword appears an inch from his throat. “Rushing to meet the others? Oh, don’t worry. We’ll make sure you all meet. In the afterlife.” He gurgles with laughter, while Fili’s blood turns into ice. 

_No_. 

“We have come to pay Thorin Oakenshield a little visit. I imagine the rest of our party are just about finishing in there. But it’s a pleasant surprise to discover that we too get our fun.”

Something inside him snaps. The filth lies. He has to. But what other business would a pack of orcs have in the town of men?

The iron self-control around a deadly instinct he doesn’t normally even acknowledge breaks away ever so slowly, crumbling away word after word, unfurling and stretching its muscles. The sun, that he’s so often compared to, is being eclipsed by the darkness deep within him. He looks up with different eyes now, eyes full of hatred, but they don’t notice the change. 

Because if he left Thorin all alone just before an orc attack, if he left his brother when he most needed him – Fili will never forgive himself. He’ll never forgive _them_. If Kili _is_ dead… they can all go to hell together with him. 

“What’s the matter, little dwarf? Cat got your tongue?” 

An image comes to his mind unbidden of Kili screaming in agony on top of the bed. His broken body shivering, when they take off the tourniquet. Thorin’s shattered arm and ribs. The way Thorin gasps. Kili closing his eyes and letting him take whatever he wants from his brother. All the little pieces that bind him to his easy-going countenance, to the people he cares about shatter, until there is nothing left. 

That thing he buried deep inside himself rears its ugly head up and stares him right in the eye.

‘Kill. Make them suffer for what they did to your kin. Let’s dance…’

He laughs then, throwing his head back, his eyes narrowed only a fraction. Clear, crystal blue pools of completely soulless cruelty.

The orc, unnerved by his reaction, lunges forward, aiming to skewer him. 

He dodges the blow easily, ducking. His hand closes automatically around a handle of a knife in the orc’s boot and he draws it, deliberately carving a long vertical gash the length of the creature’s leg. The orc howls in pain and backs away.

‘If Kili is dead then we are all damned. Dance with me. Let me taste it. I will have my revenge.’

They stood a chance up until now. If that fifth one attacked his blind spot and the other four moved as one whilst he was unarmed, there was a chance that a stray knife would get him. Perhaps if an arrow got him in the back before he started moving. It all could have ended here.

But now Fili has got a knife and they are mere corpses standing between him and his brother in grave danger. Perhaps he won’t come out of this unscathed – five on one is not the odds he’d normally take - but he’ll make damn sure to live long enough to deliver kingsfoil to Thorin. He will know what to do. Allowing him to get to the knife was their first mistake. He weighs the weapon in his palm, flipping it so it’s aligned along his forearm and watching the gleaming blade in mild fascination. 

“Come on! Come at me, see if you can make me scream, you pathetic sons of whores!”

Their second mistake was lashing out in blind fury. His other hand easily grasps a fishing net he spotted earlier and hurls it at the two charging orcs together. He jumps, kicking an incoming knee with all his strength and hears a satisfying crunch when it bends at an unnatural angle. He pushes himself off it, narrowly avoiding a sword that embeds itself in the orc he’s just used for leverage. 

‘Easy. Almost too easy. He didn’t scream when you got him with your arrow. But _you_ will, before I’m done here.’

He appears out of nowhere, slashing across the chest of the one who accidentally cut his own kind. Not deep enough to kill but deep enough to draw heavy, sick pleasure. The two tangled in the net are still trashing, which is made all the more difficult by the furious blind blows the injured one keeps throwing. 

‘Louder, you scum!’

He spins out of the way of a heavy mace aimed at his stomach and effortlessly buries his knife all the way to the hilt in the talkative orc’s back, just below his shoulder blade, where he won’t be able to reach it. 

Something in his gut is pulsing with almost pleasure and he plunges deeper, twisting, dancing around them, dodging blows, and dealing his own. The crown prince’s own unique fighting style. As familiar as his own skin, as the rhythm of his breathing. Thorin thinks it too delicate, not aggressive enough, but even he agrees that with his slim built, Fili’s nimbleness, agility and rhythm are his greatest advantages.

He trips up the third orc, letting the sword cut the air where he was a second ago, and snatches it from mid-air, his knee connecting with a jaw just as the hilt connects with the back of the orc’s skull. The creature stumbles, but he lets it go for now.

‘He did scream when I had to push it out. Like Thorin screamed when your wargs nearly tore him in half.’

Duck, sidestep, kick. His hand closes around the weapon properly now, marking a narrow arc as Fili cuts off an arm, not even blinking when the blood sprays his face and clothes. His opponent clutches at the stub, roaring in fury and pain and Fili lets the blade fall once again, hacking off the other limb as well.

‘Harder… At least try to kill me! See if you have enough strength to finish it.’

This time the remaining three circle him cautiously. But now Fili has a sword – their final mistake. He’s vaguely aware that they nicked him here and there – shallow cuts on his thigh and over his ribs, a knee bruised from the impact – but none of it is serious. The thing inside him revels at the cries of a dying orc at his feet and Fili _craves_ to see more blood.

“Come, you bastards. This little dwarf has tired of your game.” His voice is deadly calm as he locks his body in a familiar stance with his weapon.

They attack all at once, just as he expected. Blades sing, Fili blocks, is thrown back but catches his balance, spins around and with all his strength slashes his sword in the guts of the nearest one, the impact of his movement jerking the blade forward through the warm entrails until he’s virtually cleaved the creature in half.

The burning feeling spikes and he feels almost as alive, like he feels when he is with Kili. Desire and danger are the two sides of the same coin for his brother, but Fili tends to shy away from this level of involvement with something he can’t control. Kili has always embraced it and now that he can _taste_ it, he finally understands. 

He’s taking risks, far more than he needs, he knows, but he’s beyond caring. He wants to make them _pay_ and it’s all that matters now. There is thirst in his blood that must be quenched and it’s the prospect of death that drives him on. His own or his enemies, he’s no longer sure. He challenges death like he challenges his own sanity, mind narrowing down on weak points of his enemy and images of Kili dying. 

He parries, thrusts and dodges in a deadly dance he knows so well. He senses a movement behind him, a nasty blow aimed at his unarmed hand. He throws his sword into the air and catches it effortlessly with his other hand. He springs high and slashes hard across his opponent’s eyes.

“Ambidextrous, you scum.” He offers, snatching the sword dropped by the blind one. 

Two swords. Time to end this game. He spins them in his hands to learn their weight and balance. They’re far too long and far too heavy for his taste but this is not an issue. He has taught himself every weapon he’s ever forged. 

He’s vaguely aware that his vision in one eye is clouded around the edges by something dark. Orc’s blood has slowly trickled around the arch of his brow until it reached the corner of his eye. He blinks it away and lunges forward with a furious roar.

There’s a familiar whoosh and he reacts on impulse, one of the blades deflecting an arrow that would have shot clean through his throat. They train together – he and Kili. They are never afraid to be in the path of one another’s weapons. He has dodged hundreds of Kili’s arrows in his life and his brother is a far better shot than the pitiful creature with the knife still embedded in his back will ever be. 

The one next to him is finally out of the net he’s thrown at them and lunging at Fili, just as he nails one of his swords through the foot of the blind one, slashing his belly open with the other blade and finally carving his throat open as the beast bends over to hold his innards.

_Saw an orc slit his throat so deep you could see the bone. A favour I try to return whenever I can._

More blood sprays over his head and shoulders but he doesn’t care, using the falling body like a trampoline to push himself high into the air, spinning for a split second until he lands with deadly precision on the shoulders of the last orc attacking him. The two swords sink all the way to their hilts through the creature’s collar bones and both lungs, but missing the heart narrowly. The time seems to slow down. His golden braids, now covered in disgusting black gore dance in mid-air for a moment, in front of blue eyes as cold as ice. 

Fili takes a deep breath and uncoils, springing away backwards, pulling the swords out with him. 

The orc gurgles for a moment while blood fills his lungs and he slowly drowns. Fili meanwhile makes his way to the one still trapped in the net, with a broken knee and a knife embedded in his back. He sees fear in orc’s eyes and drinks it in, his breathing slowing down. The orc clearly expects to be decapitated any second now, trying to shield himself with his arms, but Fili doesn’t even slow down in his trot except to pull the knife free, leaving his prey to slowly bleed out to death, now that there is nothing to block the puncture any more.

 _Kili_ , something howls in his head, as he's running again, praying that his brother is still alive against all odds.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies about the long hiatus before this update - this chapter was ready almost at the same time as chapter 16, but you have only to scroll down to see what took me so long.
> 
> The surprise I was promising. 
> 
> We should now be back to our normal schedule of updating every 5-7 days.

Fili bursts through the door to Bard’s house seconds after an orc corpse vacates the same door in the opposite direction. He vaguely registers the company finishing off the last of the orcs, some of them still locked in combat, but clearly at an advantage. He ignores them altogether, eyes locked on the closed doors to Bard’s bedroom.

_Kili!_

He throws himself bodily against the wood, but to his surprise they aren’t locked or even barricaded and he falls right into the small room.

There’s a flash of blade raised above his brother’s still form, falling, _falling_ , finally slashing sickly through flesh.

“NO!!” The scream rips from his throat and then he’s there, both heavy orcish weapons singing in his hands in the most vicious blow he knows, the force of his lunge pinning his opponent to Kili’s bed, driving them home with deadly precision.

Somehow, impossibly, both thrusts are blocked by a single human sword and he’s thrown back with enough force that he hits the chest behind him.

His knife comes up the second the sword tip comes to rest just under his chin. 

“Fili!” 

His merciless, clear blue eyes lock with the dark grey ones, equally hard and unreadable. And so they last for a moment: Fili on his knees, at the end of Thorin’s sword, a knife poised to throw, as he takes in his surroundings. 

The body of an orc that he saw Thorin skewer when he first fell through the door is still convulsing at the side of the bed, black blood sinking into the bedding maybe two inches from his brother’s injured leg. There are other corpses around them, draped artistically over broken pieces of furniture, and a gaping hole in the roof where they must have gotten in.

Thorin himself isn’t unscathed: there are shallow cuts here and there, he’s breathing heavily and his hair is in complete disarray. It’s one thing to keep your own against five orcs when you can move freely and the only life you risk losing is your own. It’s quite another to fight injured, protecting an unconscious body. Fili counts four corpses that he can see, two of them half on top of the bed, as if Thorin barely managed to stop them before they got to his brother. He’s got the same deadly instinct in his eyes as Fili has, half mad, raw, pulsing force. All of his strength, speed and reflexes unleashed. He held nothing back and paid a hefty price for it, but he kept Kili alive.

“Are we done here?” Thorin’s voice is calm but he doesn’t lower his weapon.

Only now does he notice that one of his swords have found its mark after all and Thorin’s shirt is soaking up his blood from where he’s been cut just above his collar bone. It looks shallow, most of the impact deflected by his sword, but Fili feels the guilt well up in him like a flood.

“Aye. We’re done.” His voice sounds rough, like it hasn’t been used in a long while.

The knife disappears back in his boot. Between being at the end of Thorin’s sword and accepting his hand as it pulls him back upright the Fili of Ered Luin is back. 

“Thorin!” Dwalin barges in, something like a bloodied club in his hand. Bard is close on his heels. 

“We’re fine.” Thorin offers, his eyes still following Fili.

“Well, now you’ve done it! The guards will be here any moment!” The bowman scowls, towering over the royal guard and taking in his wrecked bedroom. “You must go. Now!”

“He will die if –“ Thorin begins.

“Then we must hurry. Get out!” Fili interrupts him, reaching for the miraculously surviving pitcher with boiled water and cleaning his hands. “Out!” He repeats when they stare at him in confusion. 

“Do as he says.” Thorin doesn’t even blink, dropping the sword and offering his hands for the stream of clean water. “Try to stall them for as long as you can.”

Dwalin nods and disappears, pushing Bard in front of him and shutting the door. 

“What happened to you?” Is the first question on Thorin’s lips as he rounds on him, one hand holding his face in place to look him properly over for any injuries. 

“I ran into their sentries. It wasn’t a long acquaintance.” Fili explains flippantly, using his sleeve to wipe the orc blood from his face. It’s merely a fraction of an answer to the real question his uncle is asking but they are not having this conversation right now. “Look – I’m sorry that I left you on your own.” He says seriously instead. “And for – this.” He gestures to their discarded weapons. 

Thorin merely nods. Outside there are sounds of running and commotion. 

“I take it there was a point to all this?” The older dwarf reaches to feel Kili’s forehead and frowns, hand moving to undo the dressing on his leg. 

“Kingsfoil.” Fili presents him with the small bundle of herb. 

Thorin arches an eyebrow. “Athelas. Many consider it a weed.” He takes the herb and bites off a leaf to ensure its authenticity. 

“But you have heard stories, have you not? Like I have…”

“People of Gondor use it in their medicine. It may have healing qualities –“ Thorin agrees passing the plant back, while the voices outside grow louder “- but you believe it to be the antidote. An antidote for this particular poison. How can you be sure?”

“I’m not. Except he kept repeating the word. I think – I think Kili might have known, somehow.”

“Or he could have simply been delusional, repeating a name he once learned. If you’re wrong about this –“

“And if we do nothing he will die nevertheless.” He cuts in, the harsh truth spoken out loud for the first time. “The herbs we tried are not powerful enough to keep him in this world. Please, we don’t have much time. _He_ doesn’t have much time.”

Fili pours the last of the clean water over the ugly, inflamed wound, after removing the old bandages and tearing new ones out of spare bed sheets. In the next room there are sounds of a struggle, curses and protests getting increasingly louder.

“What do you need of me?” Thorin asks simply after a moment’s silence and it’s such a simple question but carries so much meaning that Fili nearly pauses.

“You are a king, are you not?” He looks the other dwarf deep in the eye, the precious plant between them in his outstretched hand. “They say it works best in the hands of a king.” His voice is quiet, strained as he bows his head slightly. They disagree and clash more since the quest has started but there’s no mistaking the quiet respect Fili has got for his king. He will beg if he has to. 

Thorin takes the herb wordlessly and closes his eyes for a moment.

A low song in old Khuzdul fills the room. After a stunned moment Fili recognises it as an old lullaby that Dis used to sing to them when they were little. She still hums the melody sometimes as she works, but he hasn’t heard the lyrics for decades. He didn’t know Thorin knew it at all. 

It’s another level of trust he’s just offered. Here hangs in the balance everything Fili holds dear in this world. Kili is the reason Fili breathes, the reason he opens his eyes in the morning, the reason he goes on. He’s taken responsibility for his brother’s fate. He’ll take the consequences as well, pay any price needed. Because this decision is his and his alone.

_Will you kiss me? If I jump and survive, will you kiss me?_

There is no telling if this will work, or even if it is the right remedy. But for once Thorin follows Fili’s lead, trusts his instincts. His eyes are hooded and ever so soft as he crushes the plant in his palm, letting the juice drip from his fingers onto the angry looking skin. He presses the plant to the wound and Kili stirs, groaning painfully and meekly struggling to get away.

Outside somebody bodily hits the bedroom door. 

Fili ignores it, instead wrapping his arms around Kili’s head, running his fingers through his sweaty hair. He presses their foreheads together, feeling the cold clamminess of it, squeezing his eyes shut against the bitter sting of tears.

_You said I can only choose how I face the world. This is how I want to face it: breaking the rules, fighting, making my own way. Burning on the inside from where you have claimed me. Alive in the knowledge that you are mine._

“Let him” He whispers, both to his brother and himself. Let him pull you back.

Somebody bursts through the door and there are people filling the room, but it doesn’t matter. Thorin has just finished tying the bow over the dressing.

It is done. Now everything depends on Kili.

For a third time this day Fili finds himself at a sword point, this time letting himself be frog marched towards the door. Until one of them reaches to lift Kili from the bed. 

In the next moment he’s got his knife pressing into man’s skin. “Put. Him. Down.” There’s no mistaking the deadly threat in his voice. 

The guard hesitates, looking up to their leader, who takes a step forward to aid him. He stops dead in his tracks when Thorin’s knife finds its way into the gap in his armour under his arm. 

“I would listen to him. Or so help me Mahal, you will have a bloodbath on your hands. A bloodbath you will not live to see.”

For several heartbeats the tension builds until the captain nods slowly. The guard returns Kili’s lifeless body back onto the bed. 

“Our friend is gravely injured.” Thorin explains patiently. “To move him now would mean his certain death. He isn’t going anywhere any time soon, but if you are worried about a dead dwarf walking, leave a guard with him. Meanwhile you have us.” Thorin flips his knife, presenting the handle to the man and it goes against every instinct Fili possesses.

The captain seems to consider his words, but eventually takes the offered weapon. “Everybody out. Take them to Master’s house so he can decide what is to become of these… dwarves. You – stay with the injured one.” He points to the one that picked Kili earlier.

Fili’s knife is unrelenting where it digs into the man’s side. “If you so much as _touch_ him… Or if any harm comes to him during your watch… I swear, I will find you and gut you like a pig.” He says quietly so only the two of them can hear. His eyes are deadly serious, the same cold tinge in them as earlier, gone within a heartbeat.

He takes one last look at his brother’s pale face and lets them push him out into the darkness of the night.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. A few things. 
> 
> Firstly, apologies about the delay - I have hit a bog standard terrible writer's block and had to plough through it with the sheer determination and willpower alone. I hate writing that feels methodical and uninspired, but I hate being stuck even more. Eventually got to the point where I went 'sod it, let's post it anyway!'
> 
> Secondly, there are a few... changes compared to the cannon. 1) I've stretched the timeline a bit to make it a it more realistic. 2) Frerin in this is older when killed - think the age difference between him and Thorin similar to that between Fili and Kili. 3) I've attempted Khuzdul and I think I'm missing a possessive pronoun somewhere. If anyone knows the correct way to do it- please let me know.
> 
> Thirdly, there's 6.6k here, so I had to split it into two chapters. So yay. 
> 
> Also, text in **bold** is Sauron speaking.
> 
> Hope it's not too terrible. =_=

“Don’t look at me like that.” He wants to say, but as usual, no words will come out.

Fili doesn’t say anything either, just looks at him with those impossibly sad eyes when he holds out his hands for Kili to tie his wrists together. He winces when the coarse rope rubs against the angry bruises and dried blood. How many times before had Kili done this? How hard was his brother pulling at his restraints to leave such marks? And yet he never hesitates when he offers his hands.

**I may be losing you, Princeling, but I have seen your soul. I will show you things that will make you scream whenever you look at them. The Golden One will never be able to touch you again.**

After that initial brief victory, when he managed to stay awake long enough to pass on a message from the stranger he’s now instinctively learned to trust, the burning eye is never far away. 

The nightmares start anew, designed to break him, not real, he knows, but this one – this one he doesn’t think he can survive.

Kili trashes with every fibre of his being, howling when they do something to his leg and a white-hot blinding pain shoots through his very core. He throws himself readily into the agony, the visceral sensation grounding him in reality, successfully dispelling the vision. But his voice doesn’t sound right and for a brief moment Kili thinks that it is done, that he has become one with the ancient evil devouring his soul, until he realises that it’s the eye itself screaming and retreating away. It isn’t gone, but he can gather his thoughts a little bit easier.

“The King of Carven Stone.” The dwarf with rebellious eyes and the honey-coloured hair says with a hint of awe. He’s never far away, his presence more defined now, mercifully distracting, spiking his curiosity with riddles, questions, even the way he carries himself. “Only in the hands of a true king is it strong enough to give you a chance. He’s never truly believed, you know? Even back then, when he stood by the throne, when they beat it into him in training, when he’s lead armies against his foes and they followed him. But he believes now. Because your brother asked him to.”

In his nightmare Fili startles when Kili ties a blindfold over his eyes and manhandles him roughly into position. Anything to stop him looking at him like that.

Something’s wrong, he senses, horribly _wrong_. Not even wrong in the sense of the pain in his leg, or the ancient evil ripping his mind to shreds. This is bigger, more fundamental, something obvious that he’s missing. Something has changed…

**They have left you behind. You’re all alone. Because you are of no use to them now. You’re weak. You’re mine.**

He doesn’t want to believe the sinister voice, searching frantically, but there’s only two of them now, there’s no voice to guide him, no familiar heartbeat. He’s been abandoned, and the others have probably left to fulfil the quest. Regret wells up inside him like a river, washing away the last remnants of his fortitude.

**That’s it. Kingsfoil or no kingsfoil, you are lost. They never thought you worthy to begin with.**

His imaginary self reaches for a wicked, curved knife. Fili doesn’t stir, can’t see what’s coming to him.

 _You left me._ A part of him screams savagely, desperately, as he raises the weapon against a naked body splayed open before him, unguarded and defenceless. _You betrayed me, brother!_

_NO!!_

“Help me -” Kili pleads, throwing himself at the other dwarf. 

“ - Frerin.” 

The word comes to his mind from nowhere and his eyes widen at the sudden realisation.

He isn’t even sure that the stranger is there, that he really exists. It could be a trap, yet another twisted design of the Eye aimed to make him lose his mind, but Kili would rather go insane with this one last person he feels he can trust than face what’s about to happen alone. 

The dwarf startles, staring for a moment at Kili’s hand clutching his own, as if the simple contact of skin on skin had hit him like a lightening. And then he looks up and for a split second they’re both _right there_ , real and fully conscious, as if the curtain had fallen.

“You shouldn’t be here.” The blonde manages, looking torn between raw fear and desperate gratitude.

“Help me. _Please._ I can’t do this, I can’t watch me do this to _him_!”

Frerin lets go of his hand and moves to place himself between Kili and the Eye. He slowly turns around, a smile of utter mischief on his lips. 

“So many secrets, Little One.” He says, producing something long and thick in his hand.

_He had my heart._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Have you got it?” She bites her lips, peering towards the bedroom. “He was crying out again, Sigrid. He must be in so much pain.”

Bard’s older daughter also throws a taxing look over the closed doors to the smaller room. It’s true, even now she can hear the quiet whimpers and a measured strokes of a wet stone against steel. She swallows nervously. If only da was here. He’d know what to do. 

But da left right after the dwarves were taken and Bain followed him so they’re left to their own devices.

“Here. The strongest wine from da’s store.” She carefully puts the clay jug on the table and takes the cork out, scrunching up her nose at the strong smell of alcohol. “Are you sure about this? They have forbidden us from ever entering. Even earlier. There must have been a reason. Perhaps he is hideously ugly? Perhaps they have chopped off his leg altogether?” She wonders out loud, looking at her sister, grinding some of the herbs in a wooden bowl until they are completely powdered.

Tilda bites her bottom lip harder, little hands balled into fists. “We still need to help him. Ma was always there when we were ill. She would sit with us for hours and sing to us until we felt better. And he’s all alone in there now. He must be scared. And that man didn’t look very nice at all.”

Sigrid smiles. So simple, yet so true is a child’s logic. She hurriedly adds the powdered herbs to the wine and swirls the jug to make them mix into the liquid.

“Alright, you little squirrel. But remember what we agreed.” She reaches for the sharpest kitchen knife she can find and tucks it into the folds of her dress, before crouching in front of the other girl. “If it works, I will keep watch over the man while you can attend to the dwarf. Give him water, change his dressing. Try to keep him quiet, if you can. Think you can manage that?”

Tilda gives her a determined nod, closing her hands over hers.

“If it doesn’t work –“

“I know. Scream as loud as I can, then run out and bring help. Da, or Old Matthew, if he’s closer.”

“Good girl. I will leave the door slightly ajar so you can watch through the crack.” She strokes her hair and squares her shoulders.

“Wait, what if the guard wakes? Later. What if he doesn’t drink all of it and he catches us tending to the dwarf. He’s their prisoner, is he not? You heard them: they said nobody was allowed anywhere near him!”

“If he drinks any of what I put in this he will sleep at least until the morrow. By then Da should be back.”

Tilda looks a bit relieved at that. She nods and prepares a fresh bowl full of clean water, while her sister cautiously opens the bedroom door, sporting the most charming smile she can recall.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thorin thinks it’s a minor miracle that he’s managed to talk the town folk around to his plan. Greed is strong in Men – he’s learned that a long time ago, when he was a mere blacksmith, travelling through their lands. He’s not overly proud of what he’s done – there is no honour in using the weaknesses of others – but he has the obligation to keep his people safe and he will fulfil it, no matter the cost.

“Sit by my side.” He asks Fili, lagging behind by the door to the town’s great hall to catch up with him.

Fili nods, his face carefully guarded and Thorin feels the pang of desperate need to just hold him against his chest for a long while. He’s due a breakdown, and he’ll be there to catch him when that happens.

This is hard on the lad, he knows. He had witnessed merely a fraction of the closeness between the brothers, but he understands how much it must have cost Fili not to throw himself at the garrison of men that came for them, how desperate he must feel to trust in the unlikely remedy he’s learned of.

Truth be told Thorin is terrified for Kili. There’s already a crushing weight of guilt in his heart at what he’s allowed to happen to his nephew, but if Kili died… 

He remembers how very close he came to losing everything when Frerin passed away. He remembers Dwalin restraining him for hours on end while he screamed until his voice was gone. He’s not sure he’s got the strength to save Fili, never mind himself.

He closes his eyes for a moment and imagines the three of them in Bard’s house, the way it should be: Kili sleeping, slowly regaining his strength, Fili curled up around him, with Thorin behind him, his good arm wrapped around both brothers. If only he could protect them from absolutely everything like they used to believe him capable when they were dwarflings…

He sighs and takes his place at the Master’s table, chasing the impossible dream away. Although both of them have expressed their feelings clearly enough, it’s still a foreign concept that he could have them like this, that he’d be allowed to share in their precious bond.

Thorin pulls himself together. There are some problems he can’t fix, certain things he can’t prevent. He can’t help Kili, and there’s little he can do for Fili until the lad lets him. So he picks his battles, like a strategist that he is, focussing on those where his wits may yet make a difference. 

What needs to happen now is they need to sail through the feast as smoothly and quickly as possible and then the two of them will make some sort of excuse to rush back to Bard’s home. Dawlin will keep the rest of the company in line at least until he’s too drunk to care, but then again, Thorin hasn’t met a man yet who could keep up with Dwalin in terms of holding their ale. Then there will just be a simple matter of persuading Bard that they’re not a threat, which may cost Thorin some of his pride, but pride be damned when Kili is lying in the man’s own bed, dying.

Satisfied with his plan Thorin turns his attention to the room, making sure that he can account for all the members of his company, his mind automatically reviewing all the escape routes from the great hall.

“Welcome, King Under the Mountain!” The Master repeats his earlier words while the servants rush around to bring plates and cups. “My home is your home, for the next few days at least. Eat, drink, celebrate your imminent victory!” The man booms.

“We are grateful for your hospitality sire, but we already have lodgings in your town.” He tries carefully.

“Hardly suitable for the King under the Mountain, I think.” The Master counters flippantly. “You will be much more comfortable here. Besides, this will be most convenient for our talks.”

“Talks? Durin’s Day is almost upon us. We will need whatever little time we can get to scout the area. I was hoping we would leave tomorrow, or the day after at the latest.” Thorin ignores a sharp look his heir throws him, clearly ready to argue, but keeping his silence for now.

“Nonsense. We will need time to draw up the treaties and discuss the minute details of our agreement. I count there’s still three days until the end of autumn, four if you count the day itself, for I believe you don’t need to be there until the evening, yes? You will stay here, where you can recover your strength and we can get to know each other a little better.”

Thorin curses internally, bowing his head slightly to indicate that he accepts the offer. He’s got no card left to play in this.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Close your eyes.”

“What?! No! The nightmares…”

“Hush, little goblin. Just close them. You will have to trust me, follow my voice.”

Kili hesitates, but does as he’s told. Around him something like a battle erupts, but he doesn’t dare look. Mercifully there are no visions, only the dull, thrumming pain in his leg, which Kili is used to by now. He does his best to calm down and look inside himself, check the damage, pick up the pieces as best as he can.

_Hush, little goblin._

It’s the same phrase he used to hear when he was but a little dwarfling left in his brother’s charge. At one point Fili told him that his hair used to be black, like a raven’s wing, but he’d gone grey from all the constant worrying about the trouble Kili was causing. He’d been the best behaved dwarfling in the whole town for a week after that, until the guilt mounted too high and he burst out crying at dinner one night and ran to Fili to apologise, begging his forgiveness.

He smiles at the memory, and suddenly the bond between him and the dwarf with the honey-coloured hair is simply there, as if it’s always been there. It’s like the thread binding him to Thorin, but easier somehow, and in a sudden flash of realisation he thinks that they’re a bit more alike, the smile he saw a moment ago like a mirrored reflection of his own. 

_Frerin._

Blood of his blood, _Durin’s_ blood. The same kind eyes and precious smiles as Thorin’s. He has so many questions, but he doesn’t dare mention them until he’s certain he can find his way back out of this madness.

“That’s good. You need a memory. A precious one, like nothing else. Something only you’d remember. Something that defines you as who you are.”

Frerin’s voice sounds strained, but Kili is left alone for now. He takes a deep breath and dives deeper into his soul, searching for something among the ashes that would stand out from daily training sessions, the forge, Fili…

_Fili._

The earlier ugly nightmare, full of disgusting, twisted intimacy resurfaces like a blown-up corpse caught in the torrents of a river.

In the same moment Frerin cries out in pain, but the thought has sparked something very different and Kili is certain he’s got it.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The dwarf most certainly isn’t hideously ugly, Tilda thinks, and to her great relief he has managed to keep both his legs. 

Sigrid quickly helps her roll the dwarf as they change his sheets together, but she soon returns to her post by the sleeping guard, watching him for any sign of wakening. They both blush furiously when they discover that their injured guest is wearing nothing but one of their da’s simple linen shirts and some underpants, but they have been brought up by a man who above everything else is sensible and tries to instil the same feature in his children. 

Next comes the dressing. Tilda swallows – it’s high time, judging from the dark, wet stains blossoming through the bandages. If they left it much longer the dwarf would have simply bled to death. Using two pillows to prop up his leg, the girl carefully removes the soaked fabric. She gasps when the ugly wound is finally uncovered.

“Watch the guard.” Sigrid whispers in her ear and touches her shoulder. Tilda is grateful. She’s hardly squeamish, but she has never seen a wound so severe, or seeping repulsive black gore.

Sigrid swallows audibly, but reaches for the pitcher of clean water and some gauze, cleaning the edges as best as she can. The dwarf moans painfully and they both freeze in terror. Luckily, moments later the soft snores resume and they can feel safe again. Sigrid takes a moment to inspect the medicine, but having realised that it’s not one she’s been told about before, she leaves it in place, before wrapping fresh bandages around the limb as tight as she can.

They swap places again and this time Tilda makes herself comfortable at the edge of the bed, reaching to wipe the sweat form dwarf’s skin. He looks deathly pale but stubbornly draws breath after breath.

 _Dwarves were made to endure_ , she remembers her father saying once, but looking at the undeniably young face of her charge she can’t help but offer a silent prayer that this one may get better soon. He would clearly be missed if he died, judging by how protective of him his companions were, and anyway, Tilda thinks he looks like he could be fun company.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The meadow is full of dandelion fluff that sticks to everything. The air smells sweet, full of summer, damp earth, grass and flowers. He knows this place, he knows this time.

An integral part of falling in love is admiration. The raw, desperate need for approval. There is no love without a delicate flavour of respect, the coveting, the courtship, the shyness. Stolen glances and longing. These are the boundaries we erect for ourselves. And like with everything else, we desire most that which we can’t have. 

Fili has got hair in his eyes. Unruly tousled strands partly cover the blue irises, as he tries to pull away. Kili absolutely loves it, reaching to mess his brother’s hair even more. They are both laughing in the soft, dispersed light under the sheets, rolling and flattening the grass underneath.

Being in love is perhaps the strongest driving force in nature, matched only by the shock of losing it. The true curse of Durin’s line is that it defines them, it’s at the very core of who they are. So for Kili there is nothing more precious or valuable in the whole world than the feel of Fili’s naked skin beneath his fingers, the smell of his hair, the soft gasps intended only for his ears.

Consequently, the feeling that the boundary is suddenly gone and they are _yours_ for the taking is the very essence of need, intense beyond words, unbearable, sinful and maddeningly _good_.

For Kili this is _now_. 

“Frisky, are we? We only just went.” He’s on top now, brown hair hiding them like a curtain from the rest of the world. His fingers roaming his brother’s naked body for a while, are now right _there_ and he watches Fili’s half closed eyes as he teases, drunk on the power he’s got.

“Exactly. You’re still so wet. I bet I could just sink right in.” He watches the pupils blown wide, drinks down a moan as his fingers overcome the resistance and press in, _in_. Fili’s eyes fall closed as he takes a deep breath. 

Kili decides to kiss him, deepens it, drowns in it, loves the taste, loves that Fili opens his legs for him just as he opens his mouth to let him plunder it. As his tongue grows bold, so do the fingers and he feels himself twitch at the thought that he’s filling his brother on either end. 

There’s a birdsong somewhere nearby and the sun feels warm on his naked back. The sheets have slid down a bit, tangled somewhere around their thighs as they roll around and grind against each other. Somewhere in the distance their ponies neigh as they graze on the meadow and run free. 

“Easy. Slow down, Kili.” Their breaths intermingle and he focuses on the eyes again. “Let me relax.” Kili can see the need, but also amusement and that strange inner peace he can never explain.

Yes, he thinks, lifting Fili’s leg, pressing a kiss to the side of his knee, fingers tracing the sensitive underside of his thigh as he maintains the eye contact, watching those eyes widen in surprise and soften into precious submission. Slow, molten, complete. Sweet and sticky, like warm honey. 

The debauchery of the golden prince. 

He fucked him before, but now, now he will _take him_. Body and soul, he wants everything, every gasp, every nook and cranny of his mind, every inch of his skin, every uncontrollable reaction at the tips of his fingers. It’s a whole different kind of desire, wilder, all-consuming and so much deeper. It runs in his blood bright and hot like molten lava, every second he makes himself wait, observe and take the scene before him in, a delicious torture. The permission to take control, to push Fili to the very edge of what he can take and _hold_ him there is making him dizzy, intoxicating, imprinted forever in his mind. 

Later, much much later, when he had taken from Fili everything he had to give and more, when he had made him come again and again, when he had torn his brother completely apart by pleasure, reduced him to shaking and fighting for breath in Kili’s arms, he finally hears several words uttered by a voice hoarse from screaming.

 _Menu tessu, Nadadith_. You’re my everything, little brother.


	19. Chapter 19

“Long have I been planning to find you, o king beneath the mountain, and offer our services in helping you regain your stolen homeland!” The Master perorates in tones so untrue that Thorin feels sick. “We are neighbours after all –“ He chooses to ignore the rest of the speech and focusses on Fili instead. 

The blonde eats very little, despite the wealth of food placed before them. He drinks even less, his thoughts clearly distant and troubled. Thorin is aching to take the lad away from all this, to sit him down at talk to him. He needs to be sure that the thing he saw in his eyes earlier is gone for good, needs to discover the depth of the bruises underneath his skin for himself. More than anything, he needs to get Fili to start _reacting_ again.

“And when are we to expect your army, my king?” The Master picks up, oblivious of Thorin’s unease.

He puts his goblet down heavily and thinks that he will not enjoy the next couple of days. “No army. Just us.”

The Master splutters on his wine. “You will want to take my men with you, then?” He somehow manages to look both reluctant and outraged at the same time, but Thorin can almost see the cogs moving in the man’s head.

“We’ve no need. Our plan relies on stealth and cunning.” He offers as little as possible in clipped tones. 

“Oh? Do, pray tell!” Thorin groans internally.

“A small group of dwarves,” Balin comes to his rescue, “well familiar with the hidden passages of the Lonely Mountain stands a better chance than an army.” He explains vaguely.

“But how will you slay the dragon? His scales cannot be pierced. Even if he is indeed asleep in your vaults, you would need at least a catapult to crush the cursed reptile! It will take at least a hundred men to transport all the heavy war machines!” The Master was undeterred.

“Then a hundred men will die” Fili replies softly, a pleasant smile on his lips in contrast with his words. “Creating a hundred widows and orphans. _We_ value the lives of our kin. There is no honour in sending them to their deaths on a whim of one dwarf.”

“Silence, you fool!” Thorin hisses in Khuzdul. 

Fili bristles, but his easy smile is still plastered to his face, blazing blue eyes back on Thorin. “If you have no use of me here uncle, let me go to my brother and I shall leave trading _all_ of the gold of our people to this snivelling leach in your capable hands.” He fires back, keeping to their secret language. 

On any other day Thorin would have backhanded him by now. As it is he forces a smile of his own on his lips as he turns his attention back to the Master.

“Let us handle the dragon, sire.” He says as diplomatically as he can manage. “And forgive the rude behaviour of our _young_ ones. He does not understand the ways of the war yet.”

Master’s smile is so artificial that Thorin nearly cringes. “ _Cowardice_ , I thought, is not a trait favoured by dwarves.”

Thorin pales as Fili’s eyes narrow down. The room freezes, the atmosphere so dense it can be cut with a knife. 

He startles when Dwalin fills his vision, leaning heavily over his heir, as if he was simply trying to get to his king, but his hands like vice pinning Fili’s shoulders to the seat. The bodyguard is sworn to protect the line of Durin, even from themselves and Thorin offers a silent prayer to Mahal in gratitude for that.

“I can probably punch th’ insolent cretin on th’ quiet out cold fer ya’, if ya’ like. We can say th’ young prince was overcome by tiredness and had ta retire for th’ night.” He offers in Khuzdul and Thorin can feel a fraction of the stiffness in his shoulders seep away. 

Fili’s perfect smile is back meanwhile, years of careful upbringing as an heir, lending him grace and strength. Thorin is in equal measures proud and terrified.

“Aye. It is not. And I will agree that there are battles that can only be won by sacrificing the lives of hundreds.” He bows his head slightly. “I beg your forgiveness, sire. I didn’t mean anything by it, only that the narrow corridors of Erebor are not best suited for waging a regular war.”

The ruler of Laketown seems pleased with the display of humility before him and the conversations start anew in the room. 

“I knew a dwarf once, who taught me that there are some things not worth paying their price in blood, and that wit and dialogue can win as many battles as steel. Perhaps that dwarf was a fool.” Fili adds in a lower voice, looking at Thorin with eyes that aren’t smiling, as he takes his place again. 

“Weapons though…” Thorin speaks loudly, before the Master can fish out the quietly defiant statement from the blonde among the murmur of conversation. “Those we could use. Our own possessions were… lost in the course of our journey.”

“Lost…? How?” The man bites into a fat slab of a meat, as he throws Thorin a look that tells him that this time he won’t get away with vague descriptions.

“Goblins.” Bofur immediately offers before Thorin can decide on a suitable lie.

“Aye. Th’ little bastards!” Dwalin picks up and elbows Nori to his left hard in the ribs. 

Before long every dwarf in the company is rushing to tell the Master their own version of events, belching, shouting and swinging around to demonstrate how bravely they fought. Thankfully there are so many accounts than none of them can be heard and Thorin thinks they may just about get away with it. 

There is but one dwarf who remains silent, his eyes unreadable and face guarded.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Kili opens his eyes again, he knows what he must do. There is a truth inside him that is his armour and weapon, a place incorruptible that will never belong to anyone else but him. 

He belongs to Fili. Just like Fili belongs to him. More than that he belongs with his people, with Thorin and his quest. 

People call him many things – describe him by his function or position, by his behaviour, assign him pet names and titles. The Durin Prince. Lad. A spare. Thorin’s nephew. The little goblin. But only Dis truly gets it right, he thinks. She calls him a _flame_. And he is a flame – struggling to burn ever more brilliantly, inadvertently drawing attention, hot and violent, holding the power to destroy, but also protecting from the cold. A flame can be put out, but it can never be controlled.

_Fili’s flame._

“Come on then.” He’s calm now, with the same internal calm his brother carries always. Confident in himself, thrumming with power, but completely in control of it as he faces the burning Eye. “Take it. Take my soul. If you think you can.”

Beside him Frerin is standing bloodied, but determined as he shields the naked and bound Fili from Thorin, attacking them with both axe and sword and mad hatred in his eyes. He leaves that battle to the older dwarf, the trust coming to him easily.

“But you can’t, can you?” He picks up, feeling the same hatred radiate right through him. “Because I have lived through a thing or two. I have fought with all my strength, I have lost and won things that have no substance to you, I have desired with ferocity matching your hunger for power.” 

He pauses and takes a deep breath, summoning the memory of braiding Fili’s hair, back then, on the meadow, after they were done. 

“But most importantly I have loved. In a way you cannot comprehend. Does it taste bitter to you? Does it fill you with dread?” His smile is a challenge, making the Eye blaze irregularly. “You have seen through me, you have tasted all that I am. That’s right, you pathetic shadow of existence! You cannot have my soul because it is no longer my own. It has a name engraved on it and you and all your legions do not have the strength to wipe it off! And there is a hand, a true king’s hand that is pulling me back and you can’t stop it. And if this means that I have to battle you every day of my remaining life, so be it.”

The world explodes, but Kili welcomes it, because one way or another this is the end.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They have just about enough time to shove the spare bandages and gauze under the covers and rush out of the bedroom before the guard wakes when the thundering on their front door starts.

For a brief moment Sigrid thinks that finally, it must be da returning, but she pauses just as she’s about to reach for the handle when she realises that her father would never need to knock.

“Who is it?” She asks, gesturing wildly for Tilda to hide.

“City guard, open up!”

“That’ll be my shift done then, lass!” The guard beams at her from the door of the bedroom and Sigrid freezes in panic. What if they start questioning her about the wine jug? 

“Well don’t just stand there! I long for my bed – I’ve had adventures enough today for a month.” He yawns hugely and the girl realises that he’s going to simply blame the nap on his general tiredness and a bit of alcohol. And he’s not likely to mention it if he wants to stay in the city guard. 

The other swordsman doesn’t look particularly friendly, his features stern and scowling when he takes a brief look at the injured dwarf. 

“Commander says you are free to go. The dwarf won’t be needing our help to die.” They both rattle with laughter, as if they just heard the best joke. 

“The imps are negotiating the terms of their stay in our lovely town and people say they have agreed to pay their own weight in gold for the roof over their heads. We are rich, my friend, or at least that son of a whore, the Master is. But surely even the scraps will be better when he feasts upon such a fat prey.” They both roar again, paying no mind to the girl, casually moving around the bedroom, taking a jug and a few other items back to the kitchen. 

“I only worry that they’ll have to weigh this one sooner rather than later then, or the carcass will start to rot!”

“We’ll weigh him alright, and then they can pay for his burial too! A tomb perhaps, like in the days of old! That will cost them a good coin. Little will they know if the fish eat the corpse, and the Master will be mightily pleased to have a tomb for himself, with only a few modifications needed to make it into a cosy quarters for his afterlife!” They joke and jest as they make their way to the door.

“What of my father?!” Sigrid interjects, clutching at their arms, frantic with worry and sick to hear of their schemes.

They look at her as if they only just noticed her presence. “He will spend the night in our jail.” One of them finally replies.

“And we haven’t even asked for payment for it!” The other one erupts in laughter again.

“On what charges?!”

“For smuggling the dwarves into the city.”

“But you are glad to have the dwarves here, you only just spoke of the wealth they will bring into town!” She tries desperately.

“That would be why he’s keeping his head, lass. This time.” One of them leans into her personal space and she takes a step back. “They will let him out in the morning so long as he doesn’t go back to preaching the death and destruction he insists is upon us.”

Sigrid swallows hard, but fortunately the guards loose interest in her again and are gone within moments.

“Sigrid? Are we going to die?” Tilda is pale as she re-appears form the curtain of the kitchen pantry.

“Of course not, little squirrel” Sigrid hugs her close, feeling her resolve turn into steel. “We just need to be ready to flee if anything bad was to happen.”

“Is the dwarf going to die? I don’t want him to be eaten by fish.” There are tears in the blue eyes and Sigrid crouches down to her sister’s level. 

“Shhh… don’t think about what they said. Perhaps he will pull through – after all, we should be able to look after him properly now, eh?”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You have chosen then.”

When Kili opens his eyes again, the dusty bedroom comes before his eyes. The pain is making him dizzy, but is definitely real and although things are still blurry, he knows he’s back.

Frerin is perched in the legs of the bed, resting his back against the bedpost. His clothes are splattered with blood and his arm lies limply on the sheets, a disgusting blood-encrusted wound, that Kili never somehow noticed before, adorning his throat.

“You… fought for me.” Kili tries to say, but isn’t sure if the words actually come out or if they’re still just in his head. 

“Blood of my blood.” Frerin smiles. “I had to save him. I don’t know him, but I had to.”

Kili stares idly at the blonde hair, which marks both of them out more than any jewels or clothes ever could and thinks that his brother would get on well with this dwarf. He can understand how Thorin can see Frerin when the three of them are together. 

And suddenly there is sadness, an overwhelming sorrow that he was never allowed to meet him when he was alive. That they never talked, laughed, sparred or gone hunting together.

“What is he like?” Frerin’s thoughts seem to run along similar lines, regret marking his features.

“He’s kind.” Kili doesn’t hesitate, sharing the thoughts coming to him. “Stubborn in a quiet way, like a rock is stubborn against the waves. Sensible and driven by duty. Disgustingly _proper_ -” Kili scrunches up his nose, but soon moves on quickly “- and some days he simply takes on too much, but doesn’t let it show until he nearly collapses from it and I have to catch him. He’s gentle and quick to smile, but at the same time deadly dangerous. He can fuck me in five ways till Sunday and then let me hold him on the edge for hours… _Oh_.” He blushes madly, despite the fact that there’s every chance that Frerin saw his earlier memory.

The older dwarf arches an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. “You have chosen.” He repeats instead, moving to get off the bed.

“Wait! What are _you_ like?” Kili demands, wants to know so much, refuses to let go of a kindred soul he’s just found. “Tell me of the olden days. Tell me of Thorin… and you.” He can feel his ears burning but he withstands the surprised look he gets from the other dwarf.

“That is a tale for another time, Little One.”

“There will be another time? Will I ever see you again? Are you going to haunt me from now on?”

“Isn’t it enough that I haunt one soul already?” 

Kili gasps when Frerin leans close to his pillow, searching his face. He can see properly now the fascinating, yet completely inhuman hazel eyes, the deathly pale of his skin, the unruly honey-coloured strands framing his face and a single messy braid behind his ear, ending with a metal clasp adorned with Thorin’s sigil.

His heart is pounding wildly when a hand comes to cradle his head and he is suddenly being kissed – both horrifying and fascinating, wild and full of longing, the same way Thorin kisses are.

Within a fraction of a second a lifetime of images, sounds and emotions shoots right through him.

_Running through ornate halls, “you will never be –“, arguments, ponies, a whip curving up in the air, “you are insufferable!”, his mother’s familiar smile, the first time he takes a life, books, “- from the North”, destruction and death, a wild gallop, Thorin, much much younger Thorin crying out in shock as the fingers pressing into his skin undo him, “never!”, a glistening edge in candle light, heads respectably bowed, grand paintings of the kings long gone, steel hitting steel, a city, people, carts, spices – confinement of a body wrapped around his so tight he can barely breathe, wargs, a gate that is ruined, “- people who will not buckle”, something opening way, way easier than it should._

Kili cries out, thinks he’s going to be sick. There’s too much _life_ in his head, he can’t cope, is lost among unfamiliar memories but it hurts so _good_ in a way he recognises, and he arches off the bed, eyes wide in shock. 

“Aaaaah! You – Hhhhn… Thorin!”

Hands rush to press him back into the bed and something mercifully cold is placed on his forehead.

“- Needs to be balanced. Needs somebody who will fight with him, fight for him, fight against him, who will bed him, but will always do the right thing.” Frerin’s smile is sad as he moves away from the bed. “You won’t remember any of this, Little One. You need to rest.”

“Wait!” Kili’s hand shoots to close around his wrist but misses it. He is so incredibly tired and close to passing out from the pain, but this is _important_. “We made a trade. A secret for a promise. Tell me what promise you require of me!”

“You won’t remember.” Frerin repeats.

“I will! I promise!” Kili insists with all the heated confidence of his young age.

“Tell him of me. And tell him I have made my peace.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We will _not_ talk about how long it took me to update. Nope. We just won't. But hello Easter break and 2 weeks off. I am so getting shit done now. Grrr.

“I’m being told one of your company is gravely injured. We should move him from that dung-hole of Bard’s dwelling and into my house. He will be much more comfortable there. I will have my men –“

“You will have your men do nothing.” Fili is back on his feet in an instant, blue eyes challenging and deadly.

Thorin has navigated the dinner only with utmost difficulty, reaching into the deepest reserves of patience and tact drilled into him when he was a youngster. For most part Fili had been content to sit quietly, pushing his food around on his plate, occasionally engaging in meaningless conversation with other company members. And Thorin thought that perhaps the worst was over. He was wrong.

“Did that boy just give me an order?” The Master puts his goblet away with a metallic clank and a servant instantly scurries to refill it.

“He merely offered to explain before any of your men rushed to fulfil their duty to you.” Thorin also stands up, placing a hand on his nephew’s arm in warning. “The dwarf remaining in Bard’s care is indeed badly injured. He should not be moved, and anyway, I don’t think your splendid halls would be suitable for a lowly fellow like him.” 

“Surely, if we use stretchers he will not suffer much inconvenience? Perhaps he could stay a guest in our halls until he is recovered and you return with your promised payment?” The Master insists, and Fili’s muscles coil up under Thorin’s fingers.

“It would not be wise.” He warns, in equal measure speaking to the blonde and their host.

“How so?” The Master arches an eyebrow. “How did he get injured?” 

Thorin thanks Mahal for an easy out he’s just been offered. “His leg was pierced by the giant spiders of Mirkwood. We took the old elven path through the woods. The vile creatures surrounded us and before we could get out of the forest one of them all but skewered him. You know what they say about the spiders: once they mark their prey, they will always return for it, no matter how far you run.” Thorin stares the Master in the eye, summoning all of his inner calm. “His blood has already turned into poison and he is not likely to live.”

Something inside him breaks at a strangled noise escaping Fili beside him. If he has to lie, Thorin will lie well. His eyes have to speak the truth, especially with a far-fetched story like this. It’s difficult to convince himself that he will never see the carefree smiles, the wild temper, the delicious curves of a body full of need and life. But in that moment Thorin _lets_ himself believe it, easily recalling the bitter taste of regret and loss he knows so well to the forefront of his mind. And it shows, he knows it does, and he knows Fili can see it too. The blow is a dirty one, but his nephew must be protected from the evil clutches of this opportunist at any cost.

Fili sinks back to his chair, his eyes hollow. He knows the story to be a lie of course, but it’s his judgement of Kili’s condition that he believes. Thorin won one battle, but lost another.

“You care for this dwarf.” The Master doesn’t give up, his eyes shining with malice. “I can see it in your eyes and in those on your golden-haired companion. Who is this dwarf?” He smiles slowly, calculating. “And what are you prepared to give to save him?”

“He is my brother.” Fili’s face is calm as he replies, but his eyes could command the Gods if he wanted. “I would give anything: everything I own, my life, my soul.” 

The words echo boldly in the room and Thorin swallows at how much inner strength it must have cost Fili to pull himself back from the abyss. This is a true Durin Prince, this is a flame he hasn’t seen in a very long time, a flame that will not be put out easily. This is the truth about what really matters, pure, uncorrupted and unfaltering truth of what life is, and Fili finds it within himself without so much as batting an eyelash. 

In that split second he is simply _jealous_ , because here stands a dwarf daring to say and do what he can’t, and Thorin recognises the better one of them. He is in equal measure proud and terrified, because in that instant he can see the king that Fili will make one day, if he lives long enough to have a kingdom. But he also knows that if their cards are revealed too early, that kingdom will never come to be.

“If you have any healers capable of helping him, please –“

“Don’t be a fool.” The hatred raising in his chest even as his words leave his mouth almost makes him physically sick, but Thorin has learned to accept contempt like he deserves it many years ago. “Your brother is all but dead. He paid the price for his stupidity and bravado, although really, I have never had much faith in him being of much use to us. This is the dwarven way: the weak must perish so the strong may thrive. Like the cracked rock crumbles away to reveal hard veins of precious stone.” He takes a deep breath. If Kili’s identity is revealed, there will be a terrible price to pay. He will be used and he will not leave this town alive, unless Thorin goes to war with men. His brother must keep his silence now. The blow must be complete. “And _you_ weren’t there to help him. Don’t try to ease your conscience now with abusing our host’s hospitality. It’s far too late for that – your brother is dying because of you.”

All signs of greatness are gone from Fili’s face. The moment has passed and Thorin can see just how deep his words had cut his nephew, how much damage he has done. Hurt, betrayal, anger, then back again to the haunting pain in his eyes, before they are closed and Fili escapes inside himself. He’s is pale as a sheet and Thorin can see his clenched fists shaking violently. 

He would take a blow right now like a kiss from the fate. He yearns for it, Master be damned, the town be damned, this whole fucking theatre be damned. He smiles bitterly. The years of road-side education beaten into him by life, in how to _fit_ in the world of men, how to use them, how to lie and burn out that little pulsing place in his head that he used to describe with the word _honour_. This is what Thorin Oakenshield is. This is who they all follow.

But somehow, impossibly Fili manages to reign his emotions in. He doesn’t say anything and there is nothing on his face that would betray what just happened, as he strides out of the grand hall.

“As you can see, Sire, there is no need to trouble your men.” Thorin’s eyes move back to the Master, cold and hard like diamonds. “It is but a foolish notion of a troubled mind that our companion may live and be of any use to you. And now you must excuse me. I have a dwarfling in need of teaching some manners.”

The low rumble of hushed conversation re-ignites around him, but all Thorin can think of is that he must _save_ whatever he can. He must protect Fili from himself.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It _burns_. He thinks he’s going to be sick, but his empty stomach just heaves uselessly as Fili stumbles against a stair case railing, nearly doubling in half over it as his knees finally buckle under him.

_The laughter, the sounds of arrows whizzing inches away from his head as they train together, the little contented sleepy noises Kili makes when Fili wraps his arms around his waist and pulls them flush, the way water drips from his hair when they bathe in the stream, the way he asks Fili to hold him down as Thorin sucks out the poison._

_Your brother is dying because of you._

There is a hot sting of tears in the corners of his eyes, but Fili refuses to break down in public, in front of strangers. He keeps bumping into people, guards, servants and household equipment, completely lost in the maze of corridors and rooms, but he pays it no mind, he just wants _out_.

He’s known in the deepest parts of his heart that he had failed his brother. He’s been pushing the thought away from his mind, fighting with every ounce of his self-control to hold himself together, focussing entirely on saving Kili. He didn’t want to attract anybody’s attention to himself, he wasn’t worth it. If he could, he would beg forgiveness later. 

He should have jumped out of the barrel and rushed after him, should have covered his back as always. Should have pushed him out of harm’s way, like he’s sworn in his heart after that first time. He didn’t, he chose to prioritise the orcs hurtling their weapons at his companions at his side and thought his brother would be okay. He was a fool, he made a mistake and there is nothing, _nothing_ he can do to fix it. 

_“And will you protect your brother? Whatever the cost?”_

Thorin must have known. Even back then he must have known somehow, perhaps tried to warn him, perhaps simply doubted him. But Fili wouldn’t listen, his drive to face the life full on too strong. 

Later, when he saw his brother deathly pale in a bed too big for him, he didn’t want to think, which made it so much easier to just loosen his grasp on his instincts, to just act. Fighting was something he has done his entire life, something he was good at. He fought with their enemies, with those who would turn him into a creature of their own design, with convention and duties placed upon his shoulders, finally he fought with himself, fought his own urges and thoughts. 

He thought he was doing pretty well, that he had Thorin fooled and exactly where he wanted him – looking after and protecting Kili. But the torrent of his emotions was mercilessly bashing at the barriers he had erected and the events were starting to slip away from him. 

First there were screams he heard when he dozed off last night. Kili’s screams, his pleading ringing with sheer agony. He woke up choking for breath, mind heavy with self-loathing as he scrambled to pull his brother from the nightmare. Then the orcs came for him and every time his blade sank into the flesh some part of him would die, like all those fleeting, bright touches Kili left in his mind were disappearing, one by one. He challenged them, taunted them and came so damn close to _wanting_ one of them to skewer him right through, to deal him the punishment he deserved. Finally the feast had him shaking through the carousel of a raging internal battle, false smiles and blank stares. Anger at the greedy fool who tried to provoke him, desperate hope that perhaps there was something more he _could_ do for Kili and Thorin’s cold eyes when he spoke.

_Your brother is dying because of you._

Fili isn’t stupid – he _knows_ that whatever lies Thorin has spun tonight he must have done so to protect Kili, he recognises the theatre, even agrees to play a part in it. But he also recognises the grain of truth buried deep inside the words, the one that perhaps even Thorin can’t see. 

And that hurts all the more because the truth is that he _cares_ for Thorin, cares about what he thinks of him, how he looks at him and treats him. They clash, often these days, they disagree on what’s really important, but they yearn for one another nevertheless. Fili will _beg_ for help for his brother, but Thorin never would and will stop him if he can. But at the end of the day he can still remember Thorin’s haunted look, his hunger for the taste of what it feels like to be alive, the way he whimpers as Fili holds him down for his brother’s hot mouth. 

They are too alike, not to fascinate one another. 

And so among all the chaos of worry, pain and regret, the little thought that it’s now bound to be over before it properly begun slowly sinks into Fili’s mind.

By now he just wants out. He wants to run to his brother and watch his every shallow breath. Above everything else, he just wants to stop _pretending_ that he’s not a part of this.

Occasionally Thorin’s thick black mane flickers into his vision not too far away but he ignores it, taking unknown corridors, loosing himself in the maze that is the grand hall and in his own thoughts. 

“Fili. Fili!” An iron grip on his arm makes him spun around violently and look right into the stormy blue eyes. For a split second he remembers the knife poised to throw and a sword at his throat. “Stop running! You need to listen to me lad, you need to listen to me right now, before it’s too late!”

“You’ve said enough. I heard you.” He wrenches his arm free, pushing some startled serving girl out of his way and jumping several stairs in one go, landing like a cat.

“Mahal’s fucking anvil, Fili! Stop acting like a spoiled brat!” There’s a loud thud behind him telling him that Thorin jumped as well and Fili considers just fleeing through the nearest window, but he can’t tell how high they are and if there’s land or water waiting for him on the other side.

He wants to be left alone. As an heir he knows that his behaviour today was unacceptable, but the bottom line is this: his brother is dying and for hours now he hasn’t been allowed back to see him. For all he knows Kili could be in the Mahal’s Halls by now, alone. And all because Thorin was too focussed on his own little performance to pay attention to the really important question. He’s not in the mood to be listening about his and Kili’s mistakes.

“Screw you, Thorin!” He swings his fist on instinct, feeling fingers close around his hair and yanking him back before he can make a move.

He registers Thorin ducking, his knuckles closely missing his face, his eyes narrowing dangerously and next thing he knows he’s being hauled by the hair towards the nearest door.

He’s thrown roughly inside and Thorin closes the door behind them, resting his back against the wood, eyes still furious. Fili stumbles, but manages to catch his balance, raising back to his full height to face the other dwarf.

They’re in what looks like a pantry or a small store room. Food is stacked on the shelves lining the walls, there are barrels, round blocks of cheeses, cold meats and vegetables, thick coils of garlic and onions hanging from the pegs. There are also dishes readily prepared to be served, some still steaming where they’re lined up on a solid wooden table in the middle of the room. No windows, just the warm glow of oil lamps and candles illuminating the inside. 

Fili would find it almost cozy, if not for the burning flame of his own fury low in the pit of his belly, as he stands his ground. Thorin has placed himself between him and the door – the only way out - and he would rather not have this confrontation right now when he’s so highly strung up he’s sure he will not be able to control himself. 

“Get out of my way,” he growls, “or so help me Maker, I will –“

“You attack me in public, you show a rift between us, you understand?” Thorin wastes no time for idle threats even as Fili takes a step forward. “Do you really think the Master hasn’t been told already about our every move?!” 

“And why should I fucking care?! You’re so afraid of him, you’re taking all the wrong decisions tonight! Why shouldn’t I ask for help Kili so desperately needs?!” His anger tastes bitter to Fili, but he allows it to flow freely through him, to burn and sting and make him _feel_.

“That man is dangerous!” Thorin snaps, his hands balled up into fists.

“Of course he’s dangerous.” Fili laughs incredulously. “He’s got enough men to stand between you and your beloved mountain, a mere three days before it’s too late.” He’s almost at the door now, his muscles locked tight.

Thorin grabs a fistful of his shirt and pulls him bodily against himself so he can hiss right in his ear. “Do you honestly not understand?! He is dangerous because the moment you show him even the smallest glimpse of your weakness he will use you, and he will have you in his chains, doing his bidding like a rag doll on strings! He’s got me chained down already to an extent and with every word I utter he can demand more. I will not have you and Kili similarly weighted down!”

Fili will _never_ be anyone’s puppet. He would rather die. His freedom is one of his few truly prized possessions. Something deep inside him breaks at the realisation that Thorin would think so low of him, but then again, he supposes he has deserved it. 

He almost doesn’t register the vicious blow into the elder’s stomach until Thorin grunts painfully when his broken ribs are jostled and slumps heavily against Fili’s shoulder. “I am not _weak_ , even if I couldn’t save Kili.” This own whisper feels like he’s trying to convince himself more than his uncle, strangely intimate like this when the two of them are practically flush against each other. “And I am hardly the dwarfling you can send back to his room when he’s misbehaved anymore.”

A second later he’s falling back, his legs pulled from under him as Thorin easily trips him. 

“Kili _is_ your weakness, you fool! Like he is _mine_ too.” Fili can hear the furious growl even as his back hits the floor and he rolls to regain his footing moments later. 

Suddenly he’s an avalanche, one word away. He knows he won’t be finished here until he’s screamed out every accusation he’s collected against Thorin. Until he’s made him realise how wrong he is, until he’s made him _pay_.

“Anyone who isn’t quite so single-minded about Erebor as you are is a weakness to you! When did caring for people become a crime to you?!” It’s full on now, fists and elbows flying, that deadly instinct whispering in his ear to the rhythm of his steps and blows. “You’re so full of it! Hardly a few nights back I could see the longing in your eyes, I could see how much you’ve been denying yourself, I held you together when you begged him. I could tell how much _he_ meant. And now he’s dying and you’re _not there_!”

Thorin’s fist is so quick he doesn’t even see it coming. Fury, raw, mad, exploding fury in Thorin’s eyes is the only thing that registers when he tastes blood in his mouth. It’s a terrible thing, but matched by his own anger – savage, raw and twisted. There’s a bitter-sweet pang in his mind when he remembers the night they spent together, the memory threatening to overwhelm him, as he spins out of the way of a hard kick, instinct guiding his movements. 

“What _do_ you know of my longing, of responsibility, of guilt?!” 

Sidestep, knee blocks knee, fingers closing around something hard – an onion, he registers – and ramming it hard into the side of Thorin’s head, making him stumble back. 

“ _Guilt_ I know well enough.” He says quietly, charging forward to push his advantage before his own momentum is used against him as Thorin spins him around and throws him hard into the shelves full of food. 

His body and wrists are pinned in place by all of Thorin’s weight for a moment, and his traitorous mind sends a shiver through him. He’s _enjoying_ being pinned down, and somewhere deep down he knows that on some primal level he’s been enjoying their fight – they fought before of course, but never like this, never holding nothing back. They spin and dance together like a well-fitting parts of a single mechanism, Thorin offering so much more challenge than the orcs ever could. They’re both really good - equally matched, although using different things to their advantage – and they’re both paying with blood for it, Fili thinks, pushing off the shelves to throw Thorin off and wiping the red from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Listen to yourself!” Thorin blocks his next two blows and seconds later his knee connects with Fili’s hip. It’s ugly, it’s dirty, their emotions spilling into blows full of hatred and pain. “He wouldn’t _be_ my weakness if I didn’t care for him quite so much!” He spits, moving away to give Fili a moment to compose himself. “You are in love. He will be your strength _and_ your weakness. Because when it comes to him everything matters so much more. But you are not ready for this journey if you can’t recognise that you have an opening you’d be wise not to show to other people!”

 _Yes. I am in love. But not just with Kili._ His eyes widen a fraction at the realisation, but it feels like a punch in the stomach. _This is why it hurts so much when you think me foolish or call Kili reckless. I have fallen and now I can’t stop, can’t breathe, can’t – can’t stop fighting with you. It matters so much more that you see and understand. And you think so lowly of yourself that you haven’t even considered the option._

He makes a move to throw another blow, he really does, to punish Thorin, to seek punishment for himself, but it’s far too late now, for both of them. The rage has bled into desire and although they still don’t understand one another, they both _want_ , dizzy with the thrill of an unrestrained combat, with their smell, the blood, the fear, the need for reassurance, for reaction, for a different kind of cries.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings: Mild D/s undertones and a brief mention of non-con ahoy~!**
> 
> Also, I've recorded a storm last night as I was writing it - it should help you get the feel for this chapter, if you want to listen to it while you read. 
> 
> Uploaded here: https://soundcloud.com/linane/storm
> 
> Enjoy~!

“Damn you, Fili! What do I need to do to make you understand?” He registers Thorin’s low growl, before the room whirls dangerously until the edge of the table digs hard into the small of his back and he’s being kissed, drowning in the taste of strong wine and blood. 

_I’ve been damned for a while. Heated kisses behind barely closed bedroom doors while reckless hands fumbled with my flies, brown eyes with pupils blown so wide he can’t even speak and the way he says ‘look at me’ when I think nobody can see – these are the things that I traded my soul for. There is nothing you can do to me that hasn’t been done before._

Before he can stop himself he’s sweeping the food on the table to one side and lifting himself to sit on the wooden surface. Seconds later his legs come up to wrap themselves around Thorin’s waist, his arms circling his neck to bury his fingers in the wavy strands, jerking mercilessly and forcing Thorin to angle his head, so Fili can shove his tongue deeper inside his mouth. 

It’s still the same fight, only now they’re playing really dirty.

_Are we done here?_

No, they aren’t. They never were. Perhaps they never will be. Whatever may become of them in the future, whether this thing between them lasts or not, they will never walk past one another indifferently. 

He breathes in Thorin’s heavy scent and allows himself to drown in it, allows it to wipe all thought from his mind, just for a moment. His eyes fall closed and he battles for dominance, his body opening up to the assault instinctively, arching up and falling, falling _falling_ into the heat of that mouth and the scandalous pleasure it brings. He wants more and less at the same time and it’s a strange mix of need, fury, fear, self-hatred and a hot, swelling affection.

Thorin for his part gasps into their mouths, his hands finding Fili’s hips to pin them hard into place, his thumb rubbing against the slither of sensitive skin just above his breaches. He’s got enough power and self-control to stop them before things get any further, but not enough to be able to pull away from Fili’s urgent lips. 

_Passion_ is what defines the line of Durin, what makes them incredibly strong and incredibly vulnerable at the same time. 

They only part when there is no more air in their lungs left to steal. Anger easily fills in the void left by the tongue and Fili shoves Thorin back hard, his knuckles white from gripping the edge of the table as he practically shakes with the raging internal battle. 

_What is it exactly that you want of me? What is it that I’m asking for?_

He knows he’s a sight to behold right now – with his hair in disarray, blood on his lips, eyes that both hate and demand, his shirt pushed up high and a growing bulge in his pants. He still wants out, but he also wants Thorin, to make him pay, to fuck him, to make him understand. He wants to drag their guilt out into the open and be flayed or absolved. 

Outside the rain starts thundering steadily against the rooftops and windows, a flash of lightening illuminating the little store room and stirring Fili into action. He makes a desperate move for the door, before it all slips completely out of his control, before he can’t stop himself, and Thorin is able to see him for what he is. Before it becomes like –

 _Like with Kili._

But Thorin catches him mid-waist and hurls back into the centre of the room. “Promise me you won’t do anything foolish.”

“Bit late for that.” He laughs cynically. 

“Fili –“ He makes a move to touch him but the golden haired dwarf snarls at him dangerously. “I swear upon the graves of my forefathers I have never thought that your brother got hurt because of you. Or that he is –“

He doesn’t want to hear. He’s tired of talking, of promises and explanations. He’s too tired to think, too desperate to remember and for once he just wants to _feel_. They are both so much more than just words and the roles that have been written for them. 

A hard kick at the back of Thorin’s knees has him falling, the halo of his dark hair spilling around him on the dirty floor. Fili whirls around as well, unstoppable like a dagger sent hurtling towards its victim, landing on top of his uncle and pinning him to the ground to plunder that gasping mouth in a kiss that is more a punishing blow than a loving caress.

_I need you. And I need you to need me too. I can’t stop. I have to –_

His thoughts chase one another like bright sparks living but a moment in his mind, brilliant, blinding and painful to focus on. 

“He has a _name._ ” He growls eventually, picking up their earlier conversation in an attempt to stop this madness. 

For a moment time stands still as he takes in Thorin’s shocked eyes, slack jaw and a blatant drop in his defences. 

“Why would you say that?! Why these very words?!” Thorin whispers aghast.

He pushes away the urge to kiss this dwarf senseless again, to make him forget about everything but Fili’s hot lips, about here and now.

The question is illogical and he senses that there’s more afoot here than he understands, momentarily also pulling back. He pays for it dearly, when Thorin’s eyes narrow down and he head butts him hard until Fili can see all the stars. Within a few heartbeats they’ve switched and the older dwarf is above him, his hands pinned above his head. Despite himself the fire in his veins flares up with blistering heat and he bucks his hips for friction. 

_Yes, come on. Take my choices away from me. Make me want it._

“That man out there -” It’s getting hard to concentrate feeling the heavy grind of hard muscles against his pelvis. “If he finds out that Kili is a prince of Durin’s line, he will enslave him and we will have no means to free him. He will become his hostage and regardless of whether we pay him all the gold of Erebor or not, he will be unlikely to come out of this unscathed.”

As his mind circles around the thoughts of Kili, the repulsive ruler of the Laketown and his own burning need, it conjures a twisted image of Kili bound by shackles to some dirty wall while the Master fucks leisurely into his slack mouth, yanking on the matted hair to get in deeper, even as Kili fights for breath.

“NO!” The force of his whole body bucking up violently virtually throws Thorin off him, making the other dwarf hit the shelves and cause the supplies to rain around them. 

For a moment they both stay crouched, eyes locked. “I would kill that swine before he got a chance to so much as touch him.” Fili says slowly, swallowing thickly.

“No, you would not. You would merely die trying.” Thorin counters, deceptively calm. “Even if you were here somehow, all they need to do is put a knife to your brother’s throat.” His eyes are roaming Fili’s curled up body, the tension now palpable in the distance between them. “Durin’s sake, Fili, all the Master needs to do is put a knife to _your_ throat as you provide him with another excuse, and we have lost! We have lost regardless of what I say or promise.”

“I have merely asked for help for my brother. I’ve hardly given away his position!” Blue eyes are hard and unforgiving, the same way Thorin’s are sometimes. “If you had a chance to beg for your brother’s life back there at Azanulbizar, you would. You can’t expect any less of me.”

Thorin’s lips form a thin line but he refuses to raise to the bait. “You’ve made it clear that he is important. That puts him in danger. For now we have the town’s people on our side and the small advantage of my station. One doesn’t slaughter kings in their sleep or chain them in a dungeon to rot indefinitely as your fuck toy.” Thorin smiles darkly and Fili can’t help the shocked expression on his face.

“At least not when one has got so little power in their hands. No… one either makes them into a gift for a greater power in exchange for land and riches… Or one kills them publically, turning the execution into a spectacle of humiliation and pain, so that the news is spread quickly and the tale lives on for years. You are the crown prince of Erebor. You know all these things, but you’re not thinking straight because the one person that gives your world any value at all is in danger. You need to pick your battles, Fili. And this one time Kili’s battle is his own to fight.”

The words remind him of the Thorin of old – the dwarf who worked hard at the forge, who cared for his family, who only ever picked his sword to defend or train. The one Fili admired so much, the one who taught him all that he knows.

He wants to scream about the hypocrisy of his actions in his face, about how he hates seeing his uncle brought so low, bringing shame upon his name and throwing his life away merely to provide a distraction. About how he will follow him into the fires of hell if he asks, but argue and fight with him every step of the way, so they can keep one another sane. 

He wants to ruin Thorin completely, wants to shatter that calm countenance and learn that what lies beneath is still true and unyielding like he remembers it to be. He wants to be the bait that Thorin won’t be able to resist, wants to be important to him, he wants to be taken.

“Balin thought me a fool when I refused the Elvenking,” Thorin picks up again, “when my honour wouldn’t let me bow my head to him. I had resolved to rely on Bilbo, but even then I knew what a dangerous game I was playing. If you don’t, then you are not only a fool, but also a threat. A threat I cannot afford so close to our goal.”

“You think me a burden.” The acceptance of the harsh words comes to him with enormous effort, but once the message has sunk in, the last of his barriers are coming down crashing. “You think me a foolish dwarfling who took his brother and ran off on an adventure.”

“Fili –“

_Fuck me. Fuck me until I can’t scream any more._

“Perhaps you should teach me a lesson, uncle.” He leans back on his knees and reaches to pull the collar of his overly-large shirt open as wide as it will go, revealing his naked chest. His eyes are challenging, a lewd smile playing in the corners of his lips. “A long, hard one, so I may remember.”

_Fuck me till I can’t hear his screams anymore. Until I’ve given up trying to resist you. Until I can’t think any more._

It’s tantalising. Putting himself so openly on display, watching those stormy eyes darken with lust as they roam his naked skin, taking in the bruises he had dealt him.

“Fili –“ Thorin tries again, but can’t seem to be able to find the right words, instead moving closer and reaching out. 

Fili lets his hands drop to his sides, eyes falling closed.

_Take me. I can’t fight anymore. They’ve taken my weapons, and you have taken away my will. So I want to destroy instead, starting with myself. You should understand, because you are the same: you will fight or you will fade away._

“Punish me.” He whispers into the tangled strands, and what he means is ‘ _forgive me_ ’.

“Is this what this is about?” Rough hands yank him back by his shoulder, making him look at Thorin’s weathered face. “Your guilt?”

The harsh treatment makes his cock twitch, his mind conjuring a thousand images of helpless writhing and being made to wait. Desire settles heavy and easy, _so easy_ between his legs as Fili boldly reaches to cup Thorin’s pulsing length under the layers of clothing. He sniggers when he finds what he’s looking for, testing the heavy weight and soaking up the shocked gasp.

“I’m not your whore, Fili!” The backhanded blow across the face sends him sprawling back, until he hits one of the table legs. “I don’t bed my partners out of pity. If you’re after a sore arse and a ruined self-esteem I suggest you find yourself an easy wench. I am given to understand that they have quite a few in this gods-forsaken town.”

“No, you’re not.” Fili gets back to his feet, once more wiping the corner of his mouth clean and pushing more food to the side on the table. “But you do want to fuck me, you want to learn what kind of noise I’m going to make as you push that huge cock inside me. You do want to watch me struggle to take it, open my legs wide for you and let you do with me as you please.” He teases with a dirty smile, the words coming to him easily as he pulls his half-torn shirt off over his head, baring his wide back and chest to Thorin’s eyes.

_I want to make you feel it, want to make it real for you. Because what exactly, does either of us have got left to lose?_

He lets his fingers trace the shallow cuts he’s received from the orcs for a moment, for the first time able to check that none of them need immediate attention. He feels like a bow that has been drawn but not released, where his fingertips brush over his skin before reaching for the drawstrings of his breaches. 

Outside the rain has started pelting down for good - loud, regular thuds echoing dully in the small room. Thorin seems frozen half way to the door, licking his lips and swallowing hard. Neither of them is finished fighting. 

“You wear your honour and the duty to your people like a suit of armour.” He can’t stop a quiet moan when his hard prick is finally freed from the tight constraints of his garments. “But I have seen beneath that façade. I have seen the living, breathing creature who still remembers what it’s like to feel.” He looks over his shoulder to see Thorin approaching like a summer storm.

“You want this? You want me to fuck you? Hard and brutal, in this shit hole of a town?” A hand sweeps the piles of dishes to the floor, and Fili takes their place on the table slightly too high for him, his legs dangling in the air. Naked now, save for his messy braids brushing and tickling his shoulders, willingly exposed to the Thorin’s burning eyes. “Do you even know what you’re asking of me?”

Suddenly the older dwarf is right there, pressing his own manhood and hips between his shamelessly open legs, his face for once the same level as Fili’s, as they breathe the same air together. The two jaded souls, kings, neither crowned, neither able to leave well enough alone. 

“Fuck me. Fuck me like I deserve. And do me the courtesy of seeing me for who I am.” He breathes when Thorin’s injured hand wastes no time slapping Fili’s fist away from his cock and taking over in a slow rhythm, while his good hand fumbles with his leather belt.

Fili stares at him for a long moment, feeling his lips quirk in an audacious grin. _Come on,_ he thinks, the column of the flesh between his legs giving an interested lurch.

“After everything I’ve done to you, why would you still want me?” Thorin whispers somewhere frustratingly close, his beard brushing the shell of Fili’s ear, causing a shudder to run through him.

Fili’s ears are ridiculously sensitive – something Thorin seems to be well aware of somehow – his soft breaths and low rumbling voice rendering any coherent response impossible.

He yanks hard at the rags covering Thorin’s shoulders in an attempt to get his own back, exposing enough skin to bite hard at the junction between his neck and shoulder, just below the nasty well left by the goblin whip. He’s letting his hands explore the broad planes of Thorin’s chest brazenly, his lips and teeth leaving a mark of their own, blood in his mouth satisfying like strong ale. 

The sound that comes out of the dark haired dwarf’s throat is in equal measure a hiss of pain and a growl full of frustration, making Fili realise with a fierce spark of lust that Thorin isn’t just humouring him. They are two destructive forces of nature about to collide, battle and tear at one another until they become one. 

Thorin jerks back, but keeps an iron grip on both of his wrists. Fili chooses to lean back, feeling his upper body uncoil provocatively and offering both his hands to Thorin even when that grip disappears. The smile on his face is full of dark promise, his eyes insolent in a silent challenge, as they follow Thorin’s face while his wrists are bound together by the warm leather of his belt.

“Are you afraid?” He asks conversationally, tugging to test the bite of leather against his wrists.

Thorin pauses to look him in the eye perhaps for the first time since they’ve been exchanging blows earlier. “You are a Durin’s Heir in love. Of course I’m afraid.” The longer end of his binding is tugged hard as Thorin moves around the table, forcing Fili to stretch more and roll around onto his belly. 

He’d laugh incredulously, but he knows the words to be disturbingly true. He’s capable of anything right now – a point that Thorin is just proving.

The end of the belt is fastened around the top of one of the table legs, immobilising him sprawled almost diagonally across the table, the position made more difficult by the fact that his legs can’t quite reach the floor and end up dangling uselessly in the air while his arms take up all of the strain.

Thorin steps back for a moment to admire his handiwork and it’s all Fili can do not to push his arse up shamelessly into the air in a quiet plea, while his trapped member twitches helplessly against his belly. 

“Anybody could walk in. See me spread-eagled like a cheap slut for you.” He dares, spreading his legs wider when a thumb slides from the back of his stones up, over his perineum, the tight pucker of his hole and up to his lower back. “Your precious Durin’s Heir.”

He waits for the rage and retaliation to come, tense and exposed in the soft candle light, as the rain outside whips mercilessly into the wooden structures. His cock throbs in time with the pulse in his neck and Fili prepares for the physical impact of Thorin’s hand on his arse, perhaps even cruel fingers rammed inside him hard. 

“You don’t control me.” Comes a quiet, if a bit breathless response. “You’re just as afraid as I am.” There’s a tender kiss pressed into the dip of his spine and he bristles in protest, but is pushed back down by a hand splayed wide between his shoulder blades and made to endure the rough stubble against sensitive skin. “I have told you earlier: I’m not a whore. I will not fuck you like one.”

“Thorin –“

“And I’m not him. I can’t absolve you of whatever crimes you believe you have committed.”

“Don’t -!”

“You want me to violate you.” The low voice resonates with something raw deep inside him, as the hands leisurely spread his cheeks apart, exposing his hole to an inquisitive gaze that makes Fili gasp and hide his face away in his arms. “Want me to screw you so hard that your insides hurt.”

“Hnnngh!” His hips jerk involuntarily when Thorin spits casually at his entrance, immediately chasing the wetness with his blunt thumb, pushing it methodically inside his arse until Fili feels like a piece of meat being prepared to get stuffed. “Want me to skewer you on my cock until it feels like you’re being split in half?”

“ _Fuck_ , Thorin!”

Where the fingertip had been merely pressing inside him and spreading the improvised lubrication, it is now rammed up his passage hard all the way to the joint while another hand slaps his arse with enough force to make him cry out and trash against his leather bindings. 

“I asked you a question, Fili. You’d be wise to answer, if you want to come tonight.” He can feel himself spasming against a digit that is nonchalantly exploring every bump and dip inside his body.

“Y-yes. Want you to fuck me raw.” He manages, squirming to rub his hard length against the table surface, the friction made easier by the precome pooling between his legs.

“Why? So you can channel some of that anger into the filthy carnal pleasure? So you can burn off some of that rage?” Thorin’s thumb is removed and replaced by two fingers dragging harshly against flesh too dry to be sensitive to pleasure, making Fili’s eyes water. “So you can hate me more than you hate yourself right now?”

He hesitates. The way Thorin’s words tumble easy into the dim light of the room makes him think that he’s talking from experience, bringing to mind treacherous thoughts of Thorin being made to take cock as his choices are stripped away of him. 

He’s instantly punished when the response isn’t forthcoming quickly enough by another hard blow to the flesh already made tender. He cries out once again, this time vividly aware of how his opening is struggling to clench on impulse around the two fingers wedged inside his arse, sending an electric jolt straight into his prick.

“In part, yes.” He returns, reaching deep inside himself to bring forth some of his cock-suredness into his voice and stop a moan threatening to bubble up in his throat.

“And -?” Thorin supplies, spreading his fingers wider and rewarding his cooperation with another well-aimed spit that makes everything in him more slippery and loose.

“In part because I know you can take a- _aaah_ , away my ability to think. I trust you enough to catch me when the reality slams back. And –“ a debauched chuckle comes to him effortlessly this time, “in part simply because I’ve been wanting your hot, hard cock for days now. Ever since I saw it. Want to feel so fucked out by it that I can’t stand.”

That earns him a low, hoarse groan and it takes him a moment to realise that it’s not his own. The fingers inside his arse lose their purposefulness and switch to hurried, hard thrusts, in and out, making him arch his back and ignore the edge of the table digging into his thighs. He knows that Thorin is stroking himself, watching his stretched hole with eyes dark with lust, the wet slide of flesh on flesh making him drunken and lightheaded with desire. He can’t help the most helpless, wanton little moan escaping him, that vulnerable softness inside him pulsing with need.

“Thorin –“ He’s not yet ready to beg but he knows he will be, later, when Thorin has actually taken him.

“We need - _uhh_ something to – _stop teasing_ , you desperate bastard!” He angles his finger _just so_ , easily finding that little bundle of nerves inside him that makes Fili see the stars and stabbing at it mercilessly, as if Thorin had done it a thousand times before.

Fili shakes with the effort of trying to escape the maddening torture, refusing to just rut mindlessly against the digits inside him until he can come all over himself, Thorin’s cock be damned. 

“D-Did you listen to me at all?!” He pants out, stubbornly clinging to the right side of his orgasm. “Take me dry! Rip me apart with that huge thing, I d-don’t, _fuck_ , I don’t care!”

The pressure _there_ eases a bit and Fili gulps down a much needed breath. His ability to think is coming back to him slowly and he becomes vaguely aware of Thorin’s own panted breaths, the bustle of people just outside the door and the low thunder and howling wind outside.

Next thing he knows he’s yanked back by the hair, forcing his face up and suddenly Thorin is right by his ear, having climbed half on top of him to whisper. “There’s desire and then there’s plain stupidity. I take you raw, and your adventure ends here, lad.” Fili bites his lip against the sting at the back of his scalp and the feeling of that bulbous head jammed between his cheeks, pressing into his entrance, stretching, _stretching_ , but not quite breaching him. There’s danger in Thorin’s voice, a warning he dares not ignore, making his painfully hard shaft leak a thick drop of come along its underside. “If I did this you would not be able to walk, much less ride a pony or fight. And I will not _damage_ you, no matter how much you crave it.”

He’s released and he refuses to look up again, overwhelmed by the sense of emptiness inside him and the shame burning in his cheeks. Behind him Thorin is rooting through the shelves, finally making a small pleased noise and moving something relatively heavy that makes a dull thud as it’s placed on the table.

He yelps, completely unlike the royal heir he’s meant to be, when a generous stream of a viscous liquid is poured over his arse, followed by three digits worming their way inside him, wonderfully slick as they stretch him to his limit.

“What -?” 

“Oil. For the lamps.” Thorin informs him with a hint of amusement, his hoarse and strained voice in direct contradiction to the soothing slide of his fingertips along his waistline and ribs. The older dwarf kisses his shoulder blades and the nape of his neck, uncharacteristically gentle, nuzzling Fili’s hair and braids out of the way with the tip of his nose. “Easy. Let your body relax into the pressure, let it open up naturally, slowly, until you can take my fingers.” That low rumble close behind him becomes his sole guide and anchor among the fiery storm in his veins. “Mahal, Fili, you look so good. So debauched and splayed wide open for me.”

“Want –“ He tries, but coherency is near-impossible now, when Thorin’s hand has snaked around him to gently cup his straining manhood, teasing it with fleeting touches. 

“Shhh… Easy, Fili. Breathe…” 

If Thorin could be any more closely wrapped around him, more intimately inside him and more completely or effortlessly reading his mind, Fili would no longer be his own person. He is held together by the endless stream of soothing nonsense, taken apart by the three thick fingers squelching wetly inside his spasming passage, clawing at the leather biting angrily into his wrists, fighting for every panting breath and _burning_ from the inside out with familiar, all-consuming lust.

“P-please. _Thorin!_ I can’t –“

The fingers are pulled out of him with a wet sound that makes him blush anew and wordlessly replaced by the scorching hot column of hard flesh. His hips are pinned in place with a force that leaves no doubt about how Thorin wants him and then there’s nothing but the maddening _stretch_ that he’s never known before. 

For a long, agonising moment he thinks that it won’t work, won’t fit, that he can’t – and then something inside him gives incrementally, there’s a sharp cry and he’s being filled, slowly, incredibly, sinfully filled full of Thorin’s cock. 

“Quiet!” Somebody hisses, but he can’t focus or comprehend, not when it’s sliding so easily and so _deep_ inside his arse, until he thinks he can feel the heavy weight resting right inside his belly, his whole body just a writhing mess impaled around the pulsing length. 

He’s swearing, begging and threatening, praying and simply screaming, all at the same time and when he thinks he can’t take any more, something small and unyielding slips past his fluttering rim and Mahal help him, he can feel it dragging along his insides until Thorin stops, finally fully sheathed.

“Am I hurting you?” The same low, breathless voice asks in a tone that demands an answer.

Fili doesn’t trust his ability to speak any more, so he resorts to shaking his head urgently, nearly delirious with the need to have the flesh inside him _move_. There is pain, but just the right amount to emphasise the filthy pleasure of being stuffed to the brim, loose and open, to let him feel alive and uncomplicated again.

“Stay silent then, unless you want to have the entire town here watching you take my cock.” The older dwarf snaps, but it’s hopeless, there is no stopping the desperate moans tumbling past Fili’s lips as he _feels_ his whole world made more intense and vivid by the ache of the penetration.

Thorin growls dangerously above him and next thing he knows, there’s an apple being forced inside his mouth and he has no choice but to bite hard on it to silence himself, as his uncle slowly pulls almost all the way out. 

“Sweet Aule, you’re so fucking tight around me.” The hard muscles of the other’s thighs flex, setting a cruelly slow rhythm and the blonde feels himself skewered anew. “Your arse will be wrecked by the time we’re finished here, gaping and dripping with my release. Isn’t this what you wanted?” 

He can’t respond, couldn’t even if his mouth wasn’t filled. Slowly, gradually Fili softens under the measured thrusts, the steady assault on his senses and the conflicting impulses shooting right through him. His body succumbs to the pleasure dragged out in tiny specks from the deepest parts of his body like gold hewn from the rock by a patient miner. 

Thorin’s good arm reaches under his collar bones, pulling their bodies flush together once more, while his other arm finally, _finally_ provides a tight cavern for Fili to thrust into.

“Let me fuck you like you deserve, my golden-haired treasure.” The hips above him stutter hard a few times, making Fili’s ripped groan reverberate through the fruit in his mouth. “My perfect curse, let me mould you like a precious metal, only in this, only for the next few moments, for as long as you’re _mine_.”

Fili blinks away the tears in the corners of his eyes and clings to the mind-blowing pleasure radiating in pulsing waves from his very core. It’s an odd sensation that he’s only felt a handful of times before. Where normally an orgasm is a cascading build-up of desire until a bright explosion spills through every fibre of his body, this time it starts everywhere in him at once, rolling through him like a storm, destroying everything in its path and recreating it, concentrating and thickening in his soul until there is nothing else left.

He jerks as if he’d been stabbed when Thorin changes the angle, sinking even deeper and that tiny metal ball inside him finds its mark, rubbing relentlessly against his sweet spot and taking him apart with staggering ease. Muffled cries turn into sweet, pleading whimpers that loosen something inside Thorin, making him fuck into the smaller body, _use it_ with little care or consideration. Brutal, persistent ecstasy covers everything else like a blanket of snow and Fili is stripped of the strength to deny himself. He doesn’t so much fall over the edge, as he throws himself into the abyss, like a madman searching for death, for answers, for the end. 

Both pleasure and pain spike into an unbearable burn, like somebody has been pumping the air into the fires of a forge and the last thing that registers in his mind is that he’s coming in thick, hot spurts all over Thorin’s hand, his belly and the table. 

For a split second a lightening illuminates the two figures, twisted sinfully together, as if to display their passion to the world and then everything is swallowed by the all-consuming darkness.


	22. Chapter 22

“Are you okay?” 

He registers a hand lazily stroking along his spine. He’s naked, nestled in the crook of somebody’s shoulder, that much is immediately clear, but he’s also warm and that catches him somewhat by surprise.

“Hnnn?” Fili grimaces at the wetness between his legs when he tries to shift and pull away. No one tries to stop him and soon he’s sat back on his hunches, investigating Thorin’s ragged overcoat wrapped around his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” Thorin repeats, watching him carefully. 

They’re sat on the floor, propped up against the door so that if someone wanted to get in they’d have to physically move them out of the way first and it occurs to Fili that it’s a minor miracle that they haven’t been discovered yet. He’s grateful for Thorin’s foresight in granting them a moment more of privacy.

He should get dressed, should go – but the question rings with meaning that doesn’t warrant brushing off with ‘fine’. So instead he shuffles closer, straddling Thorin’s splayed legs and leans in close to touch their foreheads together. The older dwarf doesn’t rush him, doesn’t protest or encourage him, but after a while a hand raises and reaches between his hair to cradle the back of his head, and Thorin relaxes into the touch.

“I will be. Once my brother is better.” He whispers, closing his eyes. It’s peaceful, despite the storm still raging outside and he hasn’t felt peace around Thorin for weeks now. 

“I meant – At Bard’s house…”

“It’s gone.” Fili exhales slowly. It isn’t really, not completely anyway. Won’t be, until Kili helps him pull it back. 

Thorin snorts. “It isn’t. It’s a part of you. You raise your head differently these days, Fili.” There’s a barest hint of a smile on his lips. “But are you okay? The truth now.”

“No. Probably not. But that is my battle to fight, uncle.”

The dark haired dwarf smiles this time, muttering a curse in Khuzdul under his breath. “And this -?” He gestures to the table behind of them.

“You didn’t hurt me any more than I hurt you. I took from you just as much as you took from me.” He says quietly, leaning back to search Thorin’s face. “I’ve been living with the consequences of my choices for a while now. You’re not special in this. I will not regret this, Thorin.” He pauses, making sure his uncle understands, blue locked on blue as another lightning strikes nearby. 

“You are hurt though. I should –“

“No more than after your average training session.” Fili smiles, but doesn’t stop the hands roaming his body.

Thorin arches his eyebrow. “What kind of combat have you and your brother been practicing?”

He laughs this time, feeling the tension seep out of his shoulders where Thorin is expertly kneading on his pliant muscles. “It seems uncle, that Durin’s line firmly believes in making people understand with their fists.”

“Indeed.” The older dwarf is lost in his own thoughts for a moment and Fili wonders if he’s remembering another time when he and Frerin used to fight.

“Do you see him? In me?” He asks quietly, calmly, very aware of the golden curtain of his own hair separating them from the world.

“No.” The response comes neither too soon nor too late and Fili believes it without hesitation. “I see you.” Those familiar hands come to rest over his shoulder blades, enveloping him into a sense of absolute safety. “I used to. But then I had decades to watch you grow into a dwarf you are today, to fall little by little. I know the shape of your fingernails, the taste of your sweat, the rhythm of your heartbeat. I know which rock you’ll choose to put your foot on as you climb, how you scrunch up your nose when you’re angry, which knife you reach for first. I know which of your smiles are hollow and which ones are real. I’m always here, but you, or Kili, rarely see me as just _me_.”

They’re close enough now that Thorin’s lips virtually brush his cheek and Fili holds his breath, remembering that first awkward kiss they shared.

“I would not have survived at the bowman’s house if not for that knowledge.”

“I’m –“

“Shhhh…” Thorin places a finger on his lips. “I suppose you should take that as a compliment.” He says, all traces of humour gone from his voice. “I have long since stopped fearing death. It was the cruel cold of your dead eyes that had me afraid. I have seen it before, but never on you. I never want to see it again. Because the only way to survive it is to fight on par with you.”

Fili doesn’t know what to say, so he kisses the other dwarf instead. Easy now, so easy and natural like breathing, as they finally fall into one another and kiss madly, furiously, desperately.

“The two of you will be the death of me.” Thorin chuckles, when they finally part.

“No. We won’t be.” Fili isn’t sure where the words are coming from, only that he suddenly feels cold and there is no stopping them tumbling past his lips, familiar and final. “It will be like Gandalf says: your pride will be your downfall. You have the answers in your hands, but you don’t see the questions.”

Thorin’s eyes widen for a moment and then fall closed in acceptance. 

“Hey.” He whispers.

There’s thundering rain, the near-darkness of the small room, low, caring voice and warm hands on either side of his face anchoring him.

“Fili.”

And there’s a barely visible flicker of dampness in the corners of Thorin’s eyes.

“ _Fili_.”

“We should –“ He gasps, ruining the moment for fear of what it might become, pulling back and reaching for his garments. “We should go. Someone might –“ 

“Go to him.” Thorin also raises to his feet. “Go to your brother. I will make your excuses on your behalf. Keep him alive if you can, Fili. Keep him safe, whatever the cost.”

“You know I will.” He nods, pulling his shirt on hurriedly.

“And Fili –“

“Mmm?”

“You snap like that in public again and I _will_ have Dwalin knock you out cold. Make no mistake about that.” Thorin stops him right as Fili is reaching for the door handle. “But I have never been so proud of you as in that hall, when you stood your ground.” He adds quietly.

Fili catches his warm, truthful eyes one last time and then he’s gone.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You! Some guts you have coming here, dwarf!”

“My brother’s in there.” He hesitates, despair welling up like a flood. “Or his body is.”

Bard watches him for a moment cautiously. “He’s alive. Take him and get out of my house.”

He nods tightly. He wasn’t expecting to be treated any better after how Thorin treated their host earlier. In fact, he was half expecting a fist in his face as soon as the door opened. He’s allowed inside, but the way Bard holds a hand on the handle of his knife doesn’t slip his attention.

His heart is fluttering madly in his chest as he walks through the familiar door to Bard’s bedroom. 

Kili is twisting on top of the sheets, hair and body wet with sweat. It’s clear that the fever is taking him apart and he’s muttering something incomprehensible, eyes half open, but not seeing. A girl – Bard’s youngest – is by his side, trying to cool him down with a damp cloth.

Fili feels like he’s allowed to breathe again. Kili is alive. He didn’t believe the words until he saw him with his own eyes.

“Kili!” He’s there in the next heartbeat, hands flying to his brother’s face and shoulders, trying to soothe him. “ _Nadadith!_ ” He automatically slips into their secret language, desperate for a flicker of recognition, anything.

“Step away from him, Tilda. The dwarves are leaving.”

“But –“

“Now.”

The child looks like she could argue, but steps aside, allowing Fili better access. 

His relief vanishes in an instant as he takes a closer look. Kili is in no fit state to be moved. He has never seen him so fragile before – the poison and the medicine are fighting a terrible battle in his body and the damage is visible.

“I have nowhere to take him. No one will open their door to us.” He says quietly, gently wrapping an arm around Kili’s shoulders and bringing their foreheads together, willing his brother to draw strength from the simple contact. Kili is burning to the touch.

“Funny that. I saw you make new friends and instantly become heroes of the people only yesterday.”

Fili snorts. Men are so easily subdued by coin that for a moment he feels like arguing with the bowman, feels like saying that the recklessness of his people is matched by the greediness of the Laketown dwellers. He swallows the words, realising that the shirts they wear on their backs belong to Bard, the thin blanket he’s wrapping around his brother is also his property and he has every right to demand coin for it. He doesn’t and this makes him different, like Fili is made different from his party by the choices he’d make given the chance.

Fili recognises himself as still young and foolish, but he understands _honour_. They cannot stay against their host’s wishes. They are not welcome and they have no right, not even in Fili’s own opinion. Not after what Thorin said and did in the square. They must leave.

“Kili? Kili, we need to go. Wake up.” He tries, cradling his brother’s face with his hand to stop it from rolling forward.

Kili looks too far out of it to be able to reply. He’s breathing hard and shivering, one arm subconsciously wrapping itself around Fili’s shoulders. Outside the wind howls madly.

His brother won’t be able to walk. Fili will have to carry him and he’ll need to find a way to do so, avoiding touching his leg as much as possible. Packing what little belongings they have into simple linen bags and making Kili sit up goes against his every instinct, but he bites his lip and forces himself to proceed.

In his mind the urge to do the right thing fights furiously with the hot, desperate need to save his brother, no matter the circumstances. Kili’s wellbeing wins of course and he swallows the bitter taste of shame as he opens his mouth to beg. 

“I don’t know how long he’ll last if I try to carry him now.” He looks up at their host. He’s not stupid enough to offend Bard with empty promises of gold. His only miniscule chance lies in humility and honesty. He has learned both on the road well enough. “He’s my _little brother_. Please… Even if I knew where to take him… He needs rest. Please, let us stay.” He withstands an almost curious look the bowman throws him, accepting his brother’s weight against his shoulder.

“Death follows you like a shadow. I would rather have his blood on my hands than that of my children.” Bard’s eyes harden and Fili knows he’s lost. “Get out, I said.”

He clenches his hands into fists, but there is no point trying to argue. He can only bring his brother as carefully and gently as possible with him and pray that the precious day and a half of rest they managed to buy him had given Kili enough strength to survive the journey. He makes himself ignore his brother’s quiet whimpers as he jostles his leg. “Come on Kee. Stay with me. We’re going to do this together.” He murmurs, lips chasing his temple. 

He’s afraid. Afraid for Kili. The weather outside is really atrocious and the cold and the wet won’t do his brother any favours. Sitting up increases the blood pressure on his leg and the first red stains are already beginning to bloom on the linen bandages. 

Deep down at the bottom of his heart he knows that had the roles been reversed he would take exactly the same decision – he would put his family before the common sense. In fact, in some ways that’s exactly what he’s done earlier.

“Kili? Hey, look at me, listen to me.” He tries with, little hope. “I’m going to take you away. Somewhere else. I need you to stay awake. Talk to me, about anything. Think you can do this for me, little brother?” He looks at the impossibly pale, exhausted face and feels like he’s ripping his heart out of his chest.

“Mmmmff. Fee…” Kili manages, leaning in, most of his body weight resting on Fili’s shoulder.

He will take him to Thorin. He has no other options left, even if his uncle’s earlier warnings about Kili becoming a hostage come to pass. If it happens Fili will offer to take his brother’s place. Even that disgusting man must be able to understand that an heir to the throne of Erebor will be a better asset then a badly injured younger son. Of course there’s nothing stopping the Master from taking both of them captive. But that at least will allow Fili to look after his brother and spare him from any humiliation and pain their captors may choose to inflict on them.

If he can, he will try to sneak in to pass a message to Thorin first. Perhaps they can rent some rooms, or even a barn, anything away form the Master’s watchful eyes. If Kili lives long enough. If he survives Fili carrying him. In his mind’s eye he can see him putting Kili down in some dark and piss-stained alleyway just to whiteness his last breaths, just to hold him close, because there will be nothing else he’ll be able to do. If this happens he will stay with him there. He will stay with him forever.

He swallows thickly against the sting of tears in the corners of his eyes and as carefully as he can manage lifts his brother to drape him over his shoulder.

This is not their home. Bard is not their friend. He is a stranger who was kind to them once, nothing more. They don’t belong here any more than they belong on the windswept hills or the dangerous roads. 

Kili cries out in pain when Fili stands up, wrapping one arm over the backs of his knees to keep him in place. He grunts with the effort and can feel a hand twisting in the fabric of his kaftan, Kili gasping for breath.

“H-Hurts.”

“I know. Hold on, it’s only for a little while.” He murmurs, heading for the door.

“I can’t – Aaargh!”

“Shhh… We’ll take little breaks, we’ll stop if the pain becomes too much, I promise, Kee.”

“D-Don’t! Fee, please!” But he can feel Kili’s body sagging against him and realises that his brother has probably passed out. This is better, easier for both of them. 

“You can’t! You’re _hurting_ him!” The little girl runs to them, tears streaming down her face as she tries to bodily stop Fili.

“Tilda!”

“It’s okay, Little One. He doesn’t have much time. Please, let me go...”

“Da-!” Her voice is full of panic and hysteria as Bard pulls his youngest away, kicking and screaming.

“Go. Now.”

Fili nods and opens the door with his free hand, letting the gust of icy wind and rain inside. This isn’t the first or the last time they’ve been kicked out by men. 

He remembers a winter a few years back. With the food scarce they were hunting deep in the mountains when they were caught up in a furious snow storm. They made it to a hunter’s lodge, only to discover it already occupied by a party of men, equally stranded. They managed to warm themselves maybe an hour before they were thrown back outside when the leader of the other group claimed they were ‘bad luck’. They ended up making an improvised shelter under an uprooted tree, clinging together for warmth and telling each other stories all the way until the morning, to make sure neither fell asleep and succumbed to the cold. Thorin, or their mother never learned of this. They were still proud in a way that neither Fili nor Kili knew. They wouldn’t take well to the news. 

He’s down the stairs now, his clothes already getting soaked as he tries his best to hold his brother in a relatively comfortable position. When he turns around one last time Bard it standing by the door, watching them with a grim expression on his face. 

“It wasn’t my decision to involve you. I wouldn’t have spoken to you or your people in the manner that Thorin did.” He offers quietly by the way of good bye. He may be scared for his brother and bitter about hospitality of men, but this is the truth and Bard deserves to hear the words. “You are a good man. You were kind to us for a while. For that I thank you and I apologise for any trouble we have caused you.”

He turns to leave and nearly walks into Bard’s eldest daughter, carrying fire wood from the store below. 

“Miss.” He gives her a curt nod.

She takes one look from Fili to Bard before her lips tighten into a narrow line. “You let them go like this da, and you’re no better than the Master. You are not the man you taught us to be.” Her voice is steel and sounds so much older than she is. 

Bard stares at her for a moment as if he saw a ghost before banging his fist into the wooden railing and running down the stairs.

They stare at each other for a long moment, before Bard sighs and reaches for Kili.

“Give him here. Get back inside.” He orders, cradling the small form of his brother against his chest and turning back.

“But –“

“She is right. I will not become like them. And if you would rather stay under my humble roof than in their great halls, then you are welcome to stay, Master Dwarf. For as long as your brother needs.”


	23. Chapter 23

He watches the golden dwarf fight to control his shivers. 

It’s not working, not when there’s a gaping hole in the ceiling of his bedroom, through which howling wind and rain are pouring inside and into the bowls and buckets arranged below. The bed has been pushed further against the wall so it’s kept dry and the hearth isn’t far away either, but where the dwarf is standing he’s barely out of the rain.

“I’m sorry, we would have moved him somewhere dry -” He offers, placing the small, unconscious body back on the bed and moving to unwrap the thin blanket which has kept it mostly protected from the elements, “- but the only other place is the kitchen table and I thought he wouldn’t be comfortable there and I didn’t want to move him without a good reason.”

He takes a moment to remind himself that no matter how they look, this isn’t a child resting in his overly big bed, just as it isn’t a child immediately rushing closer and starting to unwrap the bandages. They’re both older than Bard and yet truth be told it’s difficult to silence the urge to protect them.

“He seemed happy enough.” Tilda smiles, bringing a pile of their thick winter furs, arranging two of them on top of the covers.

“Here’s fine. It’s our fault that your roof got damaged anyway.” Bard ignores the implied apology, focussing instead on the golden haired dwarf’s badly shaking hands and chattering teeth.

Sigrid must have noticed as well because she gently wraps her hands around his and pulls him away from his brother for a moment, before dumping a towel on top of his head and beginning to rub vigorously.

“Wha -? Hey!” There’s a weak protest and Bard smiles at the memory of how his wife used to be able to inflict the same down-to-earth approach with everyone in town.

“Off.” Sigrid demands, tugging at dwarf’s half-torn shirt when she’s satisfied with his ruffled hair, and disappears to bring fresh clothes and another towel.

The dwarf looks at him incredulously but obediently tugs the wet garment over his head. Bard wordlessly passes him the items fetched by his eldest and by the time Tilda has returned with a steaming mug of tea, the dwarf is dry, barely trembling and reaching to tie his wild golden mane into a messy pony tail.

“Did you –“ He turns around to look at Bard once he’s discovered an unfamiliar dressing. “Did you look after him?” The dwarf asks, face unreadable.

“I was imprisoned.” Bard reminds him dryly, crossing his arms on his chest.

“We did.” Sigrid responds quietly. “I’m sorry, I know we were told not to touch him, but he was screaming and we just –“

“We only changed his bandages and kept his fever down. We didn’t mean any harm.” Tilda pipes in, biting her lower lip.

“- And you just helped him.” The dwarf finishes, coming closer and reaching to take hold of Tilda’s wrist. “You thought it was okay to treat an injured member of a company you know nothing about, you didn’t think you might violate some of our customs or break any laws. Because he was screaming and he needed help.”

Both girls try to shy away, not meeting his eyes and Bard opens his mouth to argue, when a voice hoarse with relief interrupts him.

”Thank you.” The golden dwarf says seriously, dropping to his knees and touching the back of Tilda’s hand to his bowed forehead. “You have saved two lives last night. I will never forget this, little lady. And you, young miss –“ He looks to Sigrid. “Thank you for your kindness and compassion earlier.”

“Two -?” Tilda stares at him wide-eyed. “But you weren’t injured –“

He offers her a gentle, sad smile. “There are only two pieces of me. He’s one of them.”

“What’s his name?” Sigrid asks softly, coming to stand behind her sister.

“Kili. And I’m Fili, at your service.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What follows are gruelling minutes merging into hours, hours merging into a whole night simply watching Kili breathe. 

He seems incredibly weak – his body wrecked by the poison – but somehow better. He’s no longer trashing on the bed and his fever stays relatively low. Most importantly he’s no longer screaming, seems to have fallen into an exhausted, but nightmare-free sleep. Once or twice he tries to say something and Fili carefully lifts his head to help him drink a few drops of a herbal infusion.

The wait is killing him. He rakes his mind for any scrap of medical knowledge he may have forgotten that might be of any use. He was always careful to pay attention to Dis or Oin, certainly more so than Kili, but it still terrifies him that he’s the best medically qualified person in this house, perhaps in this whole town, save for Thorin. He’s never considered himself a healer before and although he has probably saved lives in the past, during various hunting or smithy accidents and had once looked after Dis when she took so ill she mostly stayed unconscious, he still feels inadequate and clumsy.

He’s propped Kili’s leg on top of several pillows, changed his clothes and wiped his body clean of the cold sweat, he’s washed his hair using a bucket of heated water, helped the girls change the sheets and of course he’s continued to check on his dressing. It still feels like he’s done laughably little for his brother. 

At one point Bard brings him a whole bowl of freshly harvested kingsfoil plants. When Fili looks at him like he’s just provided him with a chest full of mithril Bard only laughs and explains that the plant is used for feeding farm animals and can easily be purchased at the market. 

The man puzzles him – on one hand stern and practical, on the other, more understanding than any man Fili’s ever met, different somehow to the lot of them. Fili knows he spends long hours staring at the Lonely Mountain, his brow knitted with worry and some internal battle, which Fili recognises but can’t decipher. 

He tries not to ask for much, feeling already more indebted than he can ever repay, but the girls seem to take it upon themselves to be his little assistants. The linens are being boiled clean and hanged to dry almost constantly, delivered to his hands rolled up nicely before he can run out. They bring him tea and hot stew, but eats very little, barely dipping his bread in the bowl, not wanting to appear ungrateful. He also takes it upon himself to periodically empty the buckets and bowls in the room through the window and into the canal below – it’s the least he can do. 

Nobody comes for his brother, which means that Thorin must have been able to distract the Master well enough. For now they are safe. 

Most of the time he just watches Kili. His long, dark eyelashes fluttering a little, the way he rolls onto one side, curling up, the miniscule twitching of his fingers. He whispers in Khuzdul, as much as he can, recalling their crazy adventures of old, what he thinks Thorin is planning on doing, his theories about how the dragon could be defeated and little observations about their host and his family. Sometimes he prays to all the gods that may be listening, sometimes he begs Kili to fight, to come back to him, sometimes he asks for forgiveness for causing him pain earlier. Until eventually he thinks he’d go crazy if not for his own quiet monologue, from the deadly silence that is normally so easily filled with Kili’s mischief and careless laughter.

It hurts, physically hurts to see him so still and so pale but there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. He’s grateful for every stroke of his palm over Kili’s warm back, every chance to brush his hair away from his face, every quiet whimper he’s allowed to hear. 

In the early morning hours, when there’s no one left to see, Fili finally succumbs to the tears he’s held back for days now. He bites his fist to stifle the small noises slipping from the back of his throat and just shakes silently feeling more unbearably alone and helpless than ever before in his life. It’s always been the two of them against the world, together whatever life has thrown at them. He doesn’t know how to move without Kili, how to hunt just for one person, or how to fight by himself.

“You’re more than just brothers.”

He looks up from where he’s hidden his face in his hands to see Bard leisurely leaning against the door frame. It must be dawn because beams of golden sunlight are pouring into the room through the hole in the ceiling and windows, splitting in the last of the raindrops into hundreds of tiny flickering reflexes. 

“I see the way you look at him. I recognise the terror of being left all alone in your eyes.” 

“What’s it to you?” He wraps himself in his anger almost instantly, narrowing his eyes, ready to fight until death, should this new revelation somehow threaten Kili’s well-being.

Bard looks at him curiously for a long moment, takes in the changes in his demeanour, but doesn’t move from his spot against the wall. For a while everything is silent, save for the sporadic sounds of the rain water dripping into the half-full buckets as the two men regard one another in the fresh morning air. 

“Nothing.” Bard shrugs eventually, stepping closer to the bed to check Kili’s fever. “It’s none of my business.”

Fili almost jumps out of his skin when the stranger’s hand touches his brother’s forehead, but forces himself to stay still, mindful that if not for Bard and his children Kili wouldn’t be alive.

“Do you need anything? Herbs, bandages?” The mas asks, without turning around.

Fili bites his lip. Yes, he does need something: anything to do, to keep him occupied before he goes mad with worry. He doesn’t want to ask, but finally reasons with himself that what he has in mind would improve Kili’s comfort, as well as correcting a wrong-doing which he considers partly his own fault.

“A few planks of wood. Some tar, nails and a hammer. Oh, and a length of rope.” He gives bard a tiny smile when his host turns around surprised. “I’d like to fix your roof, if you agree. The damage was our fault and with winter fast approaching you’ll want to be able to keep your warmth. Plus I could watch over my brother as I work.”

“Do you even know how to fix roofs?” Bard frowns.

“I may not be a carpenter but I’ve done my fair share of repairs in Ered Luin. And if you’re not happy with the results of my work, you can always have it replaced by a professional come spring.”

The bowman nods slowly. “This can be arranged. But surely you will want to get some sleep first? You’ve been up all night and the last thing I need is you slipping on the treacherous tiles and breaking your neck. The girls can sit by his side for a few hours while you take your rest.”

For a moment Fili remembers dark nights without any moonlight, pouring rain and the two figures with bared steel in their hands and deadly instinct in their eyes scaling the rooftops of their town, following another figure soundlessly, save for the occasional creak of a loose tile. 

He notices a sizeable gap between the rooftops where a big henhouse spreads a good few feet below, but it’s too late to stop and Fili takes a leap, landing with inches to spare. He waves his twin swords furiously in the air but manages to catch his balance, but his target should be right –

He swings on instinct, using his momentum to hit hard enough to push Dwalin a few feet back, to the very edge of the tiling. It’s the only strength advantage he’s going to have in the next few minutes when the older dwarf easily throws him back, forcing him to parry and duck, his bare feet dancing and slipping on the dripping wet surface. 

Before long he’s looking for any advantage at all, any minute opening, anything to stay on top of the tiling, succeeding only because Kili is covering his back from where he’s perched up on top of a chimney across the street, forcing Dwalin to deflect his arrows with one of his heavy axes. 

He rams the tip of one of his swords hard down to counter a particularly hard blow and keep himself upright and makes a mental note to re-sharpen his weapon tomorrow at the forge. The metal leaves a visible, crescent scar in the stone as Fili spins around and twists under a heavy blow of one of Dwalin’s axes, landing on his knees behind him, but with enough space left for a tight pirouette and a vicious blow –

Which never finds its mark, blocked by a heavy blade. Thorin appears out of nowhere in the space so narrow he’s standing back to back with Dwalin and Fili swallows thickly at how dangerous that combination is for him. He knew Thorin couldn’t be far, but had hoped that he bought himself enough time to at least try one on one combat. 

But the dark blue eyes only smile at him and he registers white grinning teeth before Dwalin is gone. Kili is in trouble – he thinks, sending three of his knives after the disappearing dwarf, and paying for it dearly when he’s thrown onto the next rooftop with the force of Thorin’s kick to his stomach. He lands heavily, only managing to keep hold of one of his swords and instantly rolls down the slippery slope, barely managing to stop himself before he can feel the guttering under the bridge of his foot. 

Above him Thorin stands silent and calm, like a hunter who has cornered his prey, his black, dripping wet hair flapping madly around his face in the strong wind, when a lightning illuminates his figure. 

Fili grits his teeth hearing the metallic clang of steel on steel behind him and throws himself forward back at Thorin, his sword thrown up into the air to swap his hands and reach for a throwing axe at the same time. He’s at a disadvantaged position so the exchange of blows between them doesn’t last long, but he does manage to twist their positions around just enough to throw his axe, almost blind, trusting his instincts.

It’s too late though and he registers Kili’s body mid-air, sailing helplessly towards a huge puddle of mud and Dwalin effortlessly deflecting his little axe with his own huge one. He’s on his back in the next second and sliding down the tiles faster and faster until the back of his head hits the guttering and he finds himself falling.

He’s stopped in the nick of time, when the edge of his trouser leg is pinned in place by the tip of Thorin’s sword and he dangles in the air helplessly for a moment, fighting with his own shirt which has slid down his stomach to tangle around his arms and head.

“Idiot.” He can hear Thorin’s gruff voice above him. “Eyes on your opponent, what did I tell you, lad?! You can’t help your brother unless you yourself are covered.”

It’s only when he’s finally managed to get himself out of the inopportune garment does he realise that his head is dangling maybe three feet above a vegetable patch fence of sharply tipped sticks. 

“How is he?” 

The question brings him back to the reality and he transfers his gaze back to their host. 

“Not much different from how he was in the evening.” He sighs. “He’s fighting though, I can tell. And thank you, but I’d rather start the repairs straight away if possible, while I have the benefit of the light.”

Bard arches his eyebrow. “When was the last time you slept, Fili?”

He looks up in surprise. This is the first time the man has used his name. 

In fairness Fili can’t remember the last time he slept, he thinks he might have had a short nap in Thranduil’s dungeon, but he isn’t sure. What does it matter when he slept last, when Kili is lying so badly wounded, so close?

“I told you. I don’t want to sleep now.” He repeats, voice sharper for emphasis. 

“And you’ve barely eaten.”

“Which, again, is none of your concern.”

“Your hands are shaking, even now, and the dark circles under your eyes could rival those on your brother. You’re letting this venom, whatever it is, poison the both of you, but you’re only treating one.” Bard advances, face stern and serious and Fili takes an involuntary step back. 

“It’s hardly your place to tell me what to do, _bowman_.” Fili hisses, forcing himself to hold his ground. 

“You need to rest. You’re exhausted, emotionally even more so than physically. You need to let it all stop!”

“And how would you know?!”

“I _know_ because I have done the same myself!” Bard snarls, turning around and away from him.

“You have no –“

A powerful blow to right his temple makes him stagger back, stunning him. He thinks he tries to counter-swing on impulse, but by that point the room is swimming dangerously, “Da!” – somebody is screaming and something is being dropped to the floor, shattering. 

And then the floor hits him equally hard and everything goes, yet again, black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I've been asked about it. This be my tumblr, if anybody is interested in my fanarts and stuff: http://linane-art.tumblr.com


	24. Chapter 24

The first thing that registers in his mind is a patch of warmth on his cheek. 

For Kili regaining consciousness is a slow struggle, like breaking the surface of a lake after a long and exhausting dive. Everything is blurred by his eyelashes at first, but it occurs to him that it must be dusk because the warmer spot on his face is being caused by an amber ray of sunshine falling in through the window. The entire room seems to be glowing warmly, illuminated with soft rays in colours varying from gold to ripe peach, turning it into one of the most beautiful things Kili has ever seen. Light reflects in the few polished items, causing them to glimmer enticingly and ricochet shards of reflexes on the walls and the floor like a handful of precious gems scattered around.

He wonders blearily if the room is on fire, but swats sluggishly at the thought – it would be hotter if it was. 

Gradually a few more details are added to the picture: crackling of logs somewhere behind him, smell of furs, warmth despite the wintery freshness in the air and the wonderful, comfortable softness all around him. 

Kili lets his eyes fall closed again and luxuriates in the feeling, lazily moving his hand along the sheets. 

A pulsing ache in his leg slowly worms its way into his consciousness, fighting for his attention and preventing him from slipping back into the pleasant darkness. Kili frowns and tries to move his leg, making everything hurt worse. 

He groans and opens his eyes again, this time focussing on his immediate surroundings. 

And there, right before him, perhaps a foot away, lies Fili. 

His first thought is that his brother is dead. He doesn’t know where it comes from, but the panic flares up bright and urgent in his mind and he scrambles to lift himself to his elbow. 

_No, no, no, please no, gods, anything but this!_

His body is warm to the touch though, perhaps a bit too warm even, where the skin is slightly raised and the bruises are already beginning to appear on his face. But it’s hardly a conclusive proof and Kili shuffles closer, ignoring the pang in his leg, to pull the furs, covers and the shirt aside, scanning his body for any injuries.

Fili has been fighting – he concludes, having inspected various scrapes, cuts and bruises - but none of it appears to be fatal. 

There’s a hoarse groan as his brother stirs and in an instant Kili remembers the screams, whimpers, the stench of burning flesh and the blood marking his face and trickling down his arms.

_Fili doesn’t flinch. Wordlessly, he holds his hands out for the rope. Don’t look at me like this!_

The images echo in his mind and Kili snatches his hand like he’s been burned, eyes wild and terrified, as he scrambles back, ignoring the pain. 

_No. No, I won’t, I swear, I could never -_

_There’s blind, absolute terror in his eyes, as Fili tries to make himself look even smaller, shield himself with his bruised arms, pulling one leg up to his chest._

“Kee?” Blue eyes crack open, blinking at him sleepily and Kili whimpers subconsciously, kicking out wildly to get away from the outstretched hand reaching for him. “What’s –“

“Don’t touch me!!” 

He cries out when the bed suddenly ends and he falls heavily to the floor, his leg exploding with blinding pain.

“Kili!” The blonde jumps out after him, but immediately sways heavily and has to grab hold of one of the bed posts to support himself, as he clutches at his head and groans. 

Behind Kili the door opens and somebody peers inside causing a fresh wave of terror to wash over him. They’ve come for him. They’ve come and they will make him do such things to his brother –

“Get out.” Fili snarls, drunkenly making his way around the bed and not even sparing a glance at their visitor. The door mercifully falls closed without any response.

He _has_ to get out. Has to get away from Fili. He needs a pony so he can go somewhere far, somewhere where he can’t hurt him like last time. His bare feet are hitting the wooden floor clumsily when he edges away as fast as he can, not fast enough. He will kill himself before he does these things to Fili, before it’s too late, before he can’t –

“Kili! Look at me!” Fili has ran out of the headboard he could hold on to and he falls heavily to his knees, shuffling after his brother.

“No! Don’t –“ His back hits a wall right next to the fireplace and the panic takes him completely, paralysing his movements. “I can’t! I won’t –“

“ _Nadadith -_ ”

“NO!!”

“I’m sorry, Kili, I’m so, so sorry.” He reaches out a hand, which causes Kili to curl up in on himself, despite how much his reaction seems to hurt Fili. “We don’t have to go any more – I promise I won’t try to drag you outside, I won’t hurt you again. I had no choice, otherwise I would have never –”

“Get away from me! Run! Please, Fili, just _run_!”

There’s a flash of understanding on Fili’s face and then everything goes silent.

“Hey.” 

There are hands on either side of his face and Kili screws his eyes shut, fighting for breath. 

“Is it about earlier? You were screaming, I - They were just nightmares, Kili. Whatever I did to you in those dreams, it wasn’t real. It was just a dream.”

“You?!” His eyes fly open just in time to see Fili’s pained blue ones and he wants to laugh incredulously.

“I don’t know what you saw – but I’m sorry. I could never - I’m sorry, nadadith. None of it was real. I couldn’t follow you there, I couldn’t protect you. _Forgive me_.” Fili repeats quietly this time, looking confused and conflicted.

“No! It’s not like _that_! Let me go! I’ve hurt you, I’ve hurt you so bad Fili, and you wouldn’t look away, you have to run, run right now –“

“Kili! Kili, look at me!” Fili shakes him bodily and pulls on one of his hands to press it to his own pulse point on the side of his neck. “Am I afraid?!”

“What -?”

“Am I afraid of you?! Tell me!” His brother demands, staring him deep in the eye.

He doesn’t trust the words, doesn’t trust his eyes even, but he _does_ know this body, perhaps better than his own. Fili’s heartbeat is fast, but not racing, his hands are warm where they cover his own and his pupils are regular size, narrowing and widening as the wood snaps nearby.

“It was just a nightmare.” Fili repeats again, slowly, like he’s talking to a child. “None of it really happened. I’m fine. You’re fine. –ish.”

He sits back heavily, giving Kili back his personal space and letting his eyes fall closed as another spell of dizziness takes him and makes him sway. 

It takes a lot to believe. The images are still raw and fresh in his mind, making him feel sick, even though he doesn’t know where they’re coming from. He feels like he’s forgotten something incredibly important and the gaps in his memory are terrifying. He doesn’t know where he is, who the other people in the house are or where the rest of the company is. He’s got only vague and fragmented memories of what happened to his leg. He knows he’s lost something he can never get back and the bitter disappointment about all the things that could have been, is overwhelming.

But it doesn’t matter because he’s able to wrap his fingers around Fili’s wrist and pull him bodily on top of him and hold him wrapped in his arms and just breathe until the world stops spinning.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He thinks it’s the soft thud of closing door that jerks him awake the second time. Coming round is no less difficult than before and once again, it’s the little details that register first. 

The coarse fabric under his fingertips.

The sound of rain somewhere close, the water thundering down in a regular staccato of little splashes. 

The warmth and softness around him, heavy and luxurious like it can only be in a bed you’ve made your own. 

The familiar twist of a braid within his reach.

_Fili._

His eyes fly open but he forces himself to stay motionless until he’s assessed the situation. It’s easier to pretend he’s still asleep if he doesn’t move and it’s the same logic that makes him slow his breathing down and explore beyond the details he knows.

He’s half draped over Fili’s body, with his head resting on his shoulder, just on top of his collar bone, his hips pressed flush to the other’s pelvis and legs hooked across one of his, in that deeply satisfying position that allows him maximum purchase and support while virtually immobilising his brother. Slotted just _so_ , where it feels really comfortable in that easy, practiced way of two bodies intimately acquainted.

The images and screams resurface unbidden, but this time Kili remembers that Fili wasn’t afraid the last time, uses the knowledge like a shield, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He ruthlessly forces the nausea back down – “It was just a nightmare,” Fili had said, and if he can’t trust his brother to guide him out of this, to help him sort it out in his head, then he is lost anyway.

_And if this means that I have to battle you every day of my remaining life, so be it._

He remembers his promise and he will keep it, but this doesn’t take away the fear. He’s afraid that he’s ruined for both of them, that every touch, every time he reaches for his brother will be infected with the echo of his screams in his head. It feels like his skin is too tight for him, the urge to _fall_ , helplessly into the body next to him, to _take_ all the comfort he can get is burning him from inside out. He wants to be caught and held down while he screams, while he lets out all that anguish inside him. 

He can’t. He’s aching with the need to just touch Fili, to reassure himself, but he can’t. He’s too horrified that his hands might do something Fili will not want, that they will hurt him somehow and there will be nothing but hatred and repulsion left between them. Everything he ever wanted, the wealth of warm skin and soft breaths and easy smiles is splayed right before him for the taking, but it might as well be enclosed inside a glass casing that he cannot shatter.

By now the pain in his leg is catching up with him again, despite his efforts to keep absolutely still, but he refuses to make any sound. He ignores it, focussing instead on the lethal, sharp edged shards of his memories from the last few days, trying to separate what he thinks was real from what was not.

The deep golden hue of the braid right in front of his nose draws his attention both to Fili and this nagging little voice at the back of his head that keeps whispering that he’s forgotten something really important. He takes a deep breath and tries to follow the sequence in which the events have unfolded, but try as he might he can’t recall the few images he really wants.

His mind wanders instead to thoughts of re-doing the messy braids and of how Fili must have improvised to keep his appearance half-decent, yet far from his usual organised chaos of a hair. It hurts on some irrational level that the Elves have stripped him even of his metal beads, _Kili’s_ beads. How dare they touch him like that? How dare they take them away from him? He makes a mental note to make him an even more beautiful set when they get back home, but there’s an overwhelming sadness he doesn’t understand, triggered by such a tiny detail. Something that has served his brother faithfully for decades, taken away from him. Fili has never lost the beads through all his years of training, travelling the harsh and unforgiving roads or during all those times when they rolled, rutted and clawed at each other mindlessly. And now they are gone forever.

Kili thinks something might have rattled loose inside him.

There is _such_ a furious conflict inside him between the familiar, unconditional love for Fili that his body and mind remembers, the things that form the very canvas of who he is and the darkness that brings with it the horrifying images too real to just forget. He keeps catching himself acting and thinking as if nothing has changed – possessive, passionate, used to taking and giving whatever he wants - and is immediately ashamed by the thoughts he doesn’t think he’s allowed to have any more.

It’s dark now, so he must have been asleep at least for a few more hours, but the room remains illuminated by the warm light of a fireplace somewhere nearby. It is indeed raining and with some confusion Kili takes in the gaping hole in the ceiling not far away, briefly considering if they’re in some half-ruined, abandoned house. It doesn’t fit together though with the steaming mug on the bedside table, or the clean sheets and covers that he’s laden with.

Next to him Fili is deeply asleep, judging by the soft snores reaching his ears, which suggests that his brother feels safe in this place, wherever it is. He spends another few moments just _listening_ and pondering that the blonde is _polite_ even in the way he takes his rest – he doesn’t snore the way Kili, Thorin or any other self-respecting dwarf does. All that escapes him are those deep, raspy breaths, which Kili loves to interpret as _purrs_ , much to Fili’s eternal dismay.

He catches the thought, ridiculously _normal_ under the circumstances and bites his lip hard.

There is something wrapped up in a clean gauze resting on top of Fili’s temple and Kili frowns remembering all the various cuts and bruises he saw earlier. It takes a while to convince himself that these are not his doing, as he squeezes his eyes shut against a new wave of fear and self-hatred. It takes a lot not to bolt.

“You alright there, little brother?” The voice sounds effortlessly cheerful, but Kili has learned to recognise the underlying worry and the edge of panic decades ago. 

He doesn’t want to cling or whimper but he can’t stop the soundless shaking of his body at the simple question that offers unconditional forgiveness, understanding and rescue. He can feel his brother only now wrapping a careful arm around his shoulders and rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades and he’s grateful for the fact that he woke up free to pull away if he wanted.

He doesn’t deserve any of this.

“Easy… Just breathe.” 

His brother reaches to remove the damp gauze from his temple, revealing a sizeable lump of ice inside it. He puts it away on the bedside table, discovering the steaming mug and sniffing at the contents curiously.

“Willow bark infusion.” He declares, passing him the cup. “Drink. It will help with the pain. You’ve re-opened your wounds with all your mad scrambling earlier.”

There is no admonition in his voice, only the simple information. Fili smiles at him encouragingly while Kili gulps down the warm liquid. It’s not even the pain that he can’t stand, but he’s parched enough to drink from a puddle if he had to. He licks his lips when he’s downed about half of the contents and takes a moment to take in Fili’s face. There is a vivid bruise forming from his hairline to his cheekbone and suddenly Kili feels guilty. The medicine was probably left in place for Fili.

“You drink the rest.” He insists, passing back the cup. “What happened to your face?”

“I had a disagreement of opinion with our host.” Fili looks away, taking a tentative sip. 

“More than one, by the look of things…” Kili mutters, remembering the scrapes he saw earlier.

Fili throws him a careful glance. “And with Thorin -” He searches his mind for a moment. “- and some orcs. Oh, and the town’s guard.” 

Kili’s eyes widen in surprise. “Have you taken on everybody we’ve crossed on our path with since I was out?!” Fili doesn’t normally lash out like this. In fact, usually it takes quite a lot, for a dwarf, to have him draw a knife or a sword rather than use his quick and sharp tongue.

“Only most of them. I couldn’t help it, they were all _wrong_. Or in my way.” Fili puts the cup away with a sly grin and re-settles on the bed, making Kili resume his earlier position. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not hurt, just a bit stunned from the blow to the head.”

Kili feels tense, resting on top of his brother, like a bow drawn back but not released, but it hurts to move his leg and he’s not sure he’s got the energy to roll over to his other side. For a moment the silence between them feels stifling.

“Are you alright?” Fili repeats and this time doesn’t bother trying to hide the concern in his voice.

“I –“ 

What is he supposed to say? That in his mind he has seen things he will never be able to forget, things that make him feel sick and disgusted with himself? That he can still see Fili’s blood dripping down his hands?

“Tell me?”

Kli shakes his head. “I can’t… I can’t remember most of it. And what I can remember you will never learn.” He vows with silent determination. 

“Perhaps it would help?” Fili suggests in that low, reassuring murmur, which marks that endless patience that his brother has for him. “You’ve never kept secrets from me and I’ve never kept anything from you either…”

“No.”

“Kee, I can’t help you fight if you leave me blind and don’t tell me which way the enemy is.” He tries again softly. “You’re making me helpless to watch you –“

All he picks from that sentence is ‘blind’ and ‘helpless’ and he screams in terror at the image of his brother’s broken body, scrambling to get away.

“Shhhhh…” Fili holds him in place, pressed against his side and rocking him gently until Kili is able to breathe again. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Kee.” 

“I hurt you.” He can’t stand it anymore, the words spilling from his lips like an avalanche, picking up the volume and force until it’s unstoppable and deadly like a force of nature. He needs it out, all of the ugly truth, to be judged and sentenced. “In my dreams… I hurt you, Fili. In ways you can’t even begin to imagine. And I laughed, I enjoyed it, I was… twisted. There is now forever darkness in my heart that taints me, that perhaps one day will control me. And I – I am ashamed. I was weak, I wasn’t strong enough to stop it. Don’t – Don’t make me describe the details.” That last bit comes out as a helpless plea as he curls in on himself.

A thumb on the side of his cheek makes him squeeze his eyes tight against the bitter sting of tears. It’s all too much and with some detached interest he watches himself finally break apart and _plunge_ into despair, held together only by Fili’s arms and the soothing nonsense murmured into his hair.

“You will never be taineted to me. _Never_.” His brother tells him with such simplicity as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And I will _never_ let you fall and become that pitiful creature from your nightmares, Kili, not as long as I live.”

“You don’t understand the power it had over me, Fee. It was like darkness itself, overpowering, sucking all the good out of the world… and me. I couldn’t do a thing against it!”

“Do you remember what happened? Before… your dreams started?” Fili has resorted to stroking his flank over his shirt in slow, soothing movements and somehow, in ways that Kili doesn’t understand, it’s helping. 

“I got an arrow in the thigh.” He makes a face, remembering the moment he snapped the arrow when he fell into the barrel. “If you’re going to tell me how reckless I was to –“

“No, I wasn’t –“

“- Run off like this by myself, then I will have you know that I would do it again, if it meant the difference between the lives of others, _your_ life, or death by the hands of those filthy creatures! I’m not stupid, Fili! I knew what I was getting myself into. And I would take any number of arrows to protect you, him, and the rest of them!”

“I know.” 

Fili’s deep chuckle makes him pause. “You know?” 

“I would too. I think you were brave, not foolish. This is how we are, little brother, this is what’s important to us, this is what we would put our lives down for if it came to that. I wouldn’t want to die for Thorin’s gold. But I would die for you.” Blue, hooded eyes crack open and peer back at him.

“Don’t say that. You’re scaring me.” He runs away with his gaze, automatically reaching to touch the warm flesh below for reassurance, but aborts the gesture in the last moment, his guilt flaring up.

Fili makes a sound at the back of his throat that is somehow in equal measure surprise and agreement.

“What I was trying to say is that the arrowhead was poisoned.” He picks up, his hand leaving Kili’s waist line and capturing his hand instead. “You _have_ been battling something dark and deadly, coursing through your veins, it wasn’t just your head playing mind tricks on you.” He kisses his fingertips one by one and Kili finds himself blushing like a bashful maid. 

“There will be times, perhaps soon, when you will be facing such huge evil, such impossible darkness that it will feel like you can’t do anything at all against it. Like you’re just a speck of dust about to be wiped by the mindless cruelty, hatred and destruction.” 

Kili closes his eyes. He knows the feeling all too well.

“There is always something you can do, Nadad. No matter how small and insignificant it seems.” Fili guides his hand to rest on top of his chest, fingers entwined and holding him in place over the steady strong pulse of his heart, recognisable even through the coarse fabric of his shirt. “You stand your ground, Kili. You draw your strength from the people important to you, you remember those sunny, glittering moments when you were happy, you remember home, you remember what you’re protecting. And you fight. You get hit and you get up and you swing that sword, you put one foot in front of the other and you walk, Kili.”

Kili looks up into blue eyes like steel, that perfect incorruptible core within his brother. He’s an integral part of that core, he knows, but it still makes him feel so terribly _young_ and vulnerable compared to his golden brother. His bold, soft mane, his strong shoulders, his smiling eyes, his stout but compact body, the way he walks, curious, welcoming, open to others. 

Kili is different. He understands that he’s got strength of his own, he’s drawn on it enough times, taken decisions lightening-quick and stood by them. The few years between them rarely mean anything, but it’s the power and pride of the Durin line that Kili doesn’t feel capable of right now.

“It’s the little things that will make the difference,” Fili continues, effortlessly dissipating the feeling of inadequacy Kili is experiencing. “The tiny deeds and flickering moments: that fallen tree we transformed into our fort, the sun making your skin glitter like a rainbow, the taste of apples from Dori’s orchard, that moss-covered clearing by the waterfall in Ered Luin…”

The hand Fili has been guiding is now under the covers and over his hip, hovering dangerously near the hem of his shirt and Kili jerks at the first miniscule amount of skin under his fingertips, eyes wild.

“Fili! I –“

“Touch me.” He whispers softly, but doesn’t push, just holds Kili’s hand in place.

“I can’t! I shouldn’t. I could –“

“Trust me. Trust yourself, Kili. You’re still yourself, you haven’t changed, unless you _let it_ change you. I told you, I’m not afraid of you. I never will be.” His thumb is tracing the side of Kili’s palm and he _wants_ , so badly to touch, explore and feel. “Your body is seeking reassurance and it’s always found it in the physical contact between us. You need to let yourself take it. You need this even more than I do.”

Kili swallows thickly, searching Fili’s face.

“Touch me now or you never again will, not without flinching.” He repeats with a sad smile.

Slowly, carefully he allows his hand to be guided over the smooth planes of Fili’s stomach. He closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath at the delicious warmth of the familiar, sleep-relaxed skin. It feels odd to have Fili guide him in what he’s always done so naturally himself, but at the same time it’s seducing him with the way control has been passed over to his brother.

He lets his mind wonder, imagining the body he knows so well. Fili isn’t chiselled the way Thorin or Dwalin are – he hasn’t spent quite as long fighting as they did and he doesn’t rely on his physical strength quite as much in combat. But he’s also not lanky or smooth like Kili is, he can definitely feel the strong lines of muscles just under his skin. 

He doesn’t _want_ anything from this gesture, he’s not tempted to dip below Fili’s waistline, although the awareness that he _could_ if he wanted is starting to finally sink back into place. He just wants to feel the steady raise and fall, he wants to get used to reaching out like this when he feels the need. Their relationship has always been carnal and passionate and Kili wants it back, in exactly the same form.

He reaches himself now to glide over the soft and crinkly chest hair and rest above Fili’s heart once more, noting distantly that the blonde retrieves his hand, sliding back along his forearm, leaving him to explore his body however he likes.

“Okay?”

“Thank you.”

There’s no need to say anything else between them. Kili feels _safe_. For the first time in what feels like years he thinks that _it_ can’t get to him, not when Fili is with him.

They spend a long while just lying there, relaxed, comfortable and wrapped around each other, sometimes dozing off for a while, but overall too pleased to have one another back to pass on the chance to feel it. The embers in the fireplace die down gradually and Kili thinks he should ask about their whereabouts, the people who live in this house and the company, but these are all small and insignificant things and it’s been so long since he’s been allowed to simply _be_ with Fili. There will be time enough yet to find out.

“Are you… angry with me?” Comes a quiet question and his eyes shoot up only to find Fili avoiding his gaze as he stares into the hearth behind him, his face unreadable.

“What? Why?” He blurts out, squeezing his side gently to get the blonde’s attention.

“I wasn’t there. I didn’t follow you. That’s why they got you. And then, later on I hurt you. It makes sense that you’d want to take your revenge, that your subconscious would want to -”

“Fili. Look at me.” 

When Fili finally transfers his gaze to him he can see that quiet determination that is always at the centre of his soul. He’s bracing himself, Kili realises, and it hurts to see the depth of the pain behind the sad smile. Neither of them has escaped this ordeal unscathed.

“You can’t control the world. Only how you face it.” He grins when Fili’s eyes widen in recognition. “I could never be angry enough with you to want to hurt you, not _really_ hurt you. Mind you, I will still break your nose if you continue talking bollocks like this –“

His ramblings are cut short when he’s pulled up for a hot, open-mouthed kiss, one of those barely controlled ones, full of relief, need and hunger. He returns it, this time reaching into Fili’s hair to tilt his head back with familiar ease, delving deeper into his mouth, tasting the pain medication in every sense of this word he knows.


	25. Chapter 25

When Fili wakes up again it’s morning, a bleary, grey light pouring inside through the ruined roof. 

Kili hovers perhaps a foot away, raised on his elbow, his dark eyes watching his face intently, framed by those stupidly long lashes and a mass of unruly strands of hair partially covering the irises. Even despite the unhealthy paleness of his skin or the dryness of his lips Kili looks breathtaking, his eyes ablaze with that lazy, smouldering desire, which may or may not transform into an all-consuming flame. For his brother’s sake he hopes it doesn’t – Kili is in no shape for what Fili wants to do to him. 

The brunette looks at him, _through_ him the same way Thorin sometimes looks at people – as if he could read them like a book, learn, in an instant, all there is to know and understand them. He feels a shiver run down his spine but maintains the eye contact, letting it show, starting a wordless conversation.

Kili gives him the smallest of smiles and it’s all that Fili needs to know that his brother is _okay_. He’s been watching over that wild head, that face so full of expressions and those eyes that can never lie to him his entire life. Kili is hurt, also when it comes to Fili, to the bond they share, but he _is_ healing. He will not bolt again and he’s already trying to rebuild that intimacy they share. Fili will let him do anything he wants to re-learn it.

The important thing is: they have rested, they’re recovering, they are _together_ and it’s a brand new day. 

The brown of Kili’s irises shifts to the side, his attention drawn to the wild mess of gold splayed on top of the pillow around him. He reaches to run his fingers through the warm strands, slipping into his hairline, perilously close to the sensitive tip of his ear, causing Fili’s eyelids to slide lower, softening his gaze with a private, barely perceptible smile of his own. The gentle movement of blunt fingertips over his scalp untangling the knots reminds Fili of this slow, rolling violin tune he has learned from Dwalin that fills him with inexplicable longing and usually sooner or later results in Kili taking him apart piece by piece excruciatingly slowly and putting back together reorganised, _fixed_. He wonders briefly if this is what Kili wants right now and where his thoughts are circling.

“Do you remember… the waterfall?” Kili answers the unspoken question, his voice low and hoarse in the cold morning air, both from screaming and sleep.

“You know I do.”

“Tell me about it.” The younger demands, his scrutiny returning to his own, unguarded gaze.

“Why?” He reaches to run his own hand through Kili’s damp hair. “Why now?”

“I want to hear you describe it.”

“You don’t know where you are, how you got here, you have a wound in your leg that nearly took your life and sanity and instead of asking about all those things you want me to describe you a memory you have helped create.”

“Yes.” The corners of his eyes crinkle minutely and Fili identifies the emotion as _satisfaction_ , brazen and unrepentant like Kili himself.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nobody can deny Ered Luin its natural beauty. In the morning mist the mountains appear to be floating in the sky, composed of vertical cliffs of sheer rock, adorned with ice caps and waterfalls of crystal clear water flowing down into the valleys below. 

Amagural Shulkin is one of the smaller waterfalls in the area, but it can still take your breath away - a stream of at least thirty feet across thundering into a small lake hidden away in the forest below. Few know of this place because of its remote location and difficult approach. It takes about three hours on foot to the nearest town and the path calls at times for at least basic climbing skills.

Fili has been searching the area for the past hour, ever since his brother disappeared. It’s their day off and they are meant to be hunting, but having already caught three rabbits they decide the rest of the day is for fun. 

"Fili!" He spins in place, hearing his name and freezing his tracks. 

Kili is waddling through the creek, right at the very edge of the waterfall, stubbornly climbing further in. Fili curses. 

"Get back, you fool! It's dangerous!" 

By now Kili has reached the middle of the strong current and is climbing on top of a large flat rock standing out of the raging torrent. Any further and the depths with slippery rocks and treacherous whirlpools start. 

"Come on, the view is magnificent from here! I can see the whole village!" Kili beams down at him, straightening up.

They are both stark bollock naked, having jumped straight into the pond as soon as they arrived, so Fili hopes that the whole village can't see Kili quite as well as he can see the town. 

His brother is a magnificent sight to behold - a body which has long since lost its soft childish curves, well defined and strong from exercise and work, deliciously rounded in places, wet and gleaming in the sun among the stunning nature.

Fili looks away, breathing slowly through the wave of desire pooling between his legs and filling his cock. He’s promised himself. He’s ashamed at how little self-control he’s got when it comes to Kili when in everything else he can be as stubborn as a rock.

Kili meanwhile is clearly preparing to jump, peering over the edge, trying to judge the best spot to break the surface.

"I'm serious, you halfwit! Get back here! Ma will have my balls if you fall and crack that thick skull of yours!" 

"I won't fall." Kili protests with all the completely unfounded confidence of youth. "I'm going to jump!”

“No, you bloody well won’t!” Fili glowers between his teeth, starting to make his way around the pond.

“They say Dwalin once did, pulled under water by a huge carp and was fine. The carp was not." Kili boasts, repeating a local urban legend and missing his brother’s glaring expression completely. 

"You're mad! I'm coming to get you and then you're in big trouble!" Fili bellows, speeding up. 

He judges the drop to be over fourty feet and he knows Kili is deadly serious. He will jump just to impress Fili and earn the bragging rights. This is how Kili is: he will put his life on the line for nothing more than a chance to do something exhilarating, to be a part of something people will remember. There are times when Fili feels ridiculously jealous of that kind of reckless courage, that wild, unbound _life_ that radiates from the brunette and infects everything he touches. There are times when he loves him for it so badly that it physically hurts.

"Seriously, sto -" Fili freezes as the rock on which Kili balances is dislodged and wobbles dangerously, now kept in place only by the weight of Kili's body. Several large stones to the right don't have that benefit. Dislodged by Kili's feet and the force of the river they tumble down hitting the lake with a loud splash. Fili swallows thickly.

"See? There is no way back now, brother. The only way is down." Fili is about to tell him exactly what he thinks of this stupid plan, but the rock sways again and moves forward a couple of inches. 

"Will you kiss me?" Kili demands urgently barely catching his balance. "If I jump and survive, will you kiss me?" 

"W-What?!" 

"You heard me. I know how you look at me. Answer me!" The rock isn't going to stay in place much longer. 

"Yes!" There is no way Fili can make it to his brother on time so he waddles into the pond instead, preparing to dive after him and help him to the surface if he’s injured. 

"Like you mean it?" 

"You'll have to push yourself as far away from the edge as you can. There are rocks at the bottom so aim for the deep bit in the middle!" 

"Answer me!" Kili repeats, now flailing his arms wildly, looking like he’s about to fall back. 

"Yes, you utter idiot!" 

Kili jumps. 

For a moment Fili forgets how to breathe. He watches his brother's muscular shoulders, stretched back and long legs just before he hits the water hard, head first. 

Kili broke two fingers that day, taking himself out of his archery practice for two months. Fili meanwhile broke his promise. On a patch of soft moss, among the pouring sunlight he held his brother as he keened and trembled while he took him for the first time.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I have jumped.” Kili’s eyes open slowly to meet his own and it’s something about those eyes that tells Fili that he means their escape from Mirkwood, not Ered Luin. “I’ve survived. Don’t leave me behind, Fee.”

“No, I won’t.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thorin sends Bofur in the character of a messenger at least once a day. This is how they learn that the talks are going suitably slowly, Balin being invaluable at pouring over every smallest detail to play for time. The trading agreements take over Master’s attention enough that Fili and Kili are deemed safe in Bard’s house. 

“I saw tears in his eyes,” Bofur tells them that very first day, “when I told him that you were well and awake. He said: ‘I knew, if anyone could save him, it was him.’ And then: ‘If there is anything they need of me, let me know and I will make sure they get it.’”

Kili squeezes his hand when emotion rises in his throat at the memory of those dark moments when he could only lash out because he thought everything was lost and Fili draws strength from the simple contact. 

“Tell him that he is protecting us in his own way, and I understand this now. We are well cared for here, we don’t lack in anything.”

Kili isn’t strong enough to get up for breakfast, or any other meal that day, so Fili offers to eat in the bedroom with him, followed closely by Bard’s children and eventually the man himself. They talk until long after the meal is finished and this is how Kili meets their hosts and learns of the events of the last few days. The children especially are full of questions, rarely having seen their kind before, and the dwarves do their best to satisfy their curiosity. 

It feels so very different to the strained conversations in the Grand Hall, or the forced secrecy preferred by Thorin. A good tale and a bit of laughter is something that both the brothers and Bard’s family immensely enjoy and it doesn’t take much for them to put away their pride and replace it with good will, quickly becoming something to look forward to. For the first time ever Fili allows himself to believe that maybe, _maybe_ there is a future to be shared between men and dwarves after all.

The blonde also manages to reconcile with Bard. Their conversation is difficult, but underlined with mutual respect, becoming a starting point of a tenuous friendship.

“I will admit that I needed to rest more than I thought. And I thank you for giving us the space we needed.” Fili stands his ground under an unreadable expression of watchful brown eyes. “But never try that again, Bowman. Next time my knife _will_ find its mark before I pass out.”

Bard nods his understanding, passing him a hammer and a box of nails. “I know the pain of a soul getting ripped in half. Whatever else passes between us I recognise that he is yours and I will not try to separate you again.”

Fili gives him one of his easy, slightly sheepish grins, taking the flat planks of wood from his hands and turning back to the man’s bedroom.

And so the second day finds Fili sat astride a wooden beam he’s just put in place, fixing horizontal planks to it with a couple of nails. Kili is propped up against several pillows on the bed, flipping through the single book the Bard possesses, which is a ‘Compendium of Herbs and Healing Plants of Middle Earth’, occasionally tossing his brother one of the tools laid out on his covers.

It feels almost normal, Fili thinks, reaching for his mug of hot tea balancing precariously on one of the tiles and taking the last few warming sips, as his eyes scan the rooftops, bridges and alleyways of the town. He wonders what it would be like if things were different, remembers Thorin saying that this town was once wealthy, open to merchants and peaceful. 

He imagines coming to Lake Town in the summer, with a small caravan of dwarven goods, trading them for earthenware, basket work, saddles and fabrics of men, their expedition more of a holiday than a trading mission. They would stay with Bard, set up a stand somewhere in the market, try to find some pretty gift for their mother. They’d sneak away to the tiny wild beach he can see in the distance to swim in the lake at mid-day when then sun is at its hottest and the business isn’t going quite so well. They’d watch his children grow year on year and start families of their own and they’d share the news and gossip of… Of where exactly? Ered Luin comes to his mind, but he corrects himself thinking that by then they would be rebuilding Erebor. If Mahal grants them their wish.

He sighs. Some days it feels like his entire life is wasted waiting for the things that are never meant to be. He swings his leg over the beam to jump back down, making Kili look up.

“You alright there little brother?” He puts his empty mug on the bedside table to reach for a blanket folded away nearby and drape it over Kili’s shoulders. “It’s properly nippy today.”

Kili rolls his eyes at him. “I swear Fili, you need to stop hanging around the Hobbit. You’re turning into a proper mother hen. You start making doilies and I’m packing my bags and leaving, I’m telling you!”

Fili huffs, but lets the matter drop, moving towards the kitchen. “You’ll thank me when you’re not spewing snot all over the bed.” 

He instinctively ducks under a pillow flung at his head.

He finds both girls in the kitchen, giggling at their conversation overheard through the open door. Something smells gloriously nice, making his mouth water and he approaches the stove to inspect the food bubbling away in a large pot. It’s not long until the lunch time now.

“It’s not ready yet!” Sigrid removes a ladle from his hands in a way that reminds him of Dis and he can only look as the small portion of the stew he was about to sample is returned back to the pot.

He grumbles half-heartedly under his breath, but moves to the bucket used for washing dishes to rinse his mug.

“You are no prince!”

He turns around in time to see an accusatory finger pointing in his direction, Bard’s youngest doing her best to look at him sternly.

He pretends to take a huge offence at that, pressing his hand to his heart dramatically.

“Lies!” He cries. “I am the truest dwarven prince there ever was! I am an heir to a throne made out of gold and precious gems. And I am your humble servant.” He grins and bows before the girl.

She doesn’t look convinced. “No prince I ever saw washed their dishes.”

He raises his eyebrow. “And have you seen many princes so far, young Miss? You must be a great lady yourself, then. There must have been many suitors, asking for a hand in marriage of such a beautiful flower, as you! Forgive me, for I have been a fool and I my eyes have been deceived, Princess!” He bows again, deeper this time, smiling when he realises that Thorin would probably be blue in the face by now, if he saw the Durin heir lowering his head before the Bowman’s daughter.

“I’m not a princess.” She says stubbornly, pushing him away to pull a wooden box closer so she can step on it and reach the water bucket easier, taking the rest of the breakfast plates. “And anyway, I wouldn’t want to be one.” 

He can see she’s blushing furiously now so he doesn’t press. Across the hall he catches Kili’s eyes, where he’s watching the two of them from his bed, grinning. Fili automatically picks up the kitchen rag and starts drying the plates, while something rips free in his soul at his brother’s gleeful expression.

“I _am_ a prince, I promise you.” He says calmly. “But this doesn’t mean I need to be rude. I would like to be a nice prince, you see.”

She looks at him curiously.

“Plus where I come from if I didn’t clean after myself I would get a clip around the ears at best, or I’d go to bed hungry at worst.” He chuckles.

“Is your ma very strict then?”

Fili nods gravely. “Very. She’s like a dragon herself. She breathes real fire and makes us eat worms if we come back dirty.” 

“Eeeew!” Tilda scrunches up her face, the washing temporarily abandoned. 

He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I think uncle Thorin only left on a quest because he was too scared of her to stay at home any longer.”

She giggles together with him, then gasps as he pretends to have the plate in his hands slip his grasp. He kicks it back up with his boot effortlessly, then adds the mug he’s just washed and a few saucers and soon he’s juggling half the kitchenware while balancing a cup on his nose.

Tilda is squeaking in utter delight and clapping her hands excitedly. Kili is laughing as well, throwing him his own empty mug from the bedside table.

Fili barely manages to catch it, struggling to keep his little arsenal in the air. Finally he collects it all neatly piled up on top of his head and puts it back on the table.

He gets another round of applause for his efforts, and this time Sigrid joins in. He rests his back against the counter and watches Tilda from the corner of his eye for a moment and marvels at the cultural differences between them.

She can’t be much older than what he was when he was twenty and yet she can already cook, she cleans, she runs errands, she’s changed Kili’s sheets and dressing. At her age he was… well. He was learning how to throw knives, how to rub grease into burn marks, how to scale fish and start a campfire. He remembers swimming naked in the stream, going at Master Dwalin with a wooden sword and getting his arse kicked, remembers getting into the fights against other children with Kili and trying to make him laugh despite his broken nose when they were walking back home.

They both grew up way too early and yet this girl is still enough of a child to laugh joyfully at his simple tricks and that is precious.

“What would you like to be then?” He picks up their earlier conversation. “When you grow up.”

“An adventurer!” She beams at him. “Or rather… adventuress!” She corrects herself.

Fili chuckles mentally, thinking that he too would prefer this occupation to becoming a King Under the Mountain.

“Oooh, what a coincidence! I’m quite an adventurer myself!”

“I thought you said you were a prince.”

Kili guwaffs from the bedroom.

“I am an adventurous prince!” Fili protests, struggling to keep a straight face. “And I would be honoured if you agreed to be my companion!” He kneels to one knee before the girl standing on the chest and bows his head. “If you find me worthy.”

She looks him from head to toe sceptically, her hands coming to rest on her waist.

“So are you more of a prince or an adventurer?” She demands.

Fili considers this seriously. “Adventurer, at the moment.” He answers eventually, feeling an inexplicable pang of longing. “But I have been brought up to treat fair ladies like you honourably and chivalrously. That makes me a prince, doesn’t it?”

“A knight at best.” She decides.

“A knight then! I will be your knight, protecting you in your adventures. Now do you find me worthy, yes or no? Quick.” He teases.

“Well… I suppose you can juggle. This could come in handy one day. To distract the enemy, while I run away.” She considers and Fili nods eagerly, almost choking on laughter. “Can you cook?”

“I can, but I only do it when I want to poison someone.” Tilda frowns. “I can play a fiddle a little.” He offers instead, looking up hopefully. 

“And you are good at looking after your brother. Would he be coming with us?” She looks curiously to the bedroom.

“If you wish.”

“I’d love to come!” Kili pipes up. “Please, please, take me on an adventure with you!”

“Okay, you can come.” She decides instantly. Kili cheers gleefully.

“Oi! How come he gets to go just like that and I need to be so thoroughly assessed, you little rat?!”

“This is not how you speak to a maiden!” She huffs.

“Forgive me, my lady. Only, I would rather not be separated from him. He’s a terrible klutz, you know, and I’m rather fond of him.”

Kili tries to protest, but she talks over him. “He’s good with a bow. Da told me. He will hunt us food. Can you fight?” She picks up curiously. “And can you ride a horse, so I can sit with you?”

“I can ride a pony. Horses are too big for dwarves. And of course I can fight! I would protect you from all the monsters, Little Miss!”

He launches himself for a big wooden ladle and presents a few wild-armed attacks with it at the imaginary enemy, jumping all over the kitchen. Finally he falls off the chair and rolls around on the floor for a bit, pretending to be strangling his opponent and roaring furiously as the wooden ladle hits the space between his arms repeatedly.

“He once even killed a rabbit like that. The battle raged on for twenty minutes.” Kili chuckles.

“You!”

“Fine, fine!” Tilda interrupts them. “I find you worthy.” She says importantly.

“Really?!” Both dwarves look up to her.

“He’s funny. I like him.” She shrugs.

“Thank you, my lady!” Fili returns to his earlier kneeling position, takes her hand and kisses it reverently. “Your loyal servant will not disappoint you.” 

Keeping a straight face is nearly impossible by now but he manages somehow, feeling like he’s done well, by Kili at least, if not by Tilda. It’s been so long since he saw that carefree smile and it’s like the sun has finally come out from clouds. 

 

It feels all too soon when Bofur brings them the news that they are leaving the following morning.


End file.
